I've Got a Crush on You
by supernaturaljunkiejude
Summary: Dean & the Impala become separated on Halloween. What will Dean endure to regain Daddy's little girl? Tale was written for Vanessa who 'bought' me at the Writers' Auction at KazCon. WINNER OF SENSUE FANFIC AWARD ROUND 11 'Dude, Where's My Car'
1. Chapter 1

I've Got a Crush on You Chapter1 

Though Ozzie kept right on singing, Dean ceased tapping his accompaniment on the steering wheel of the big Impala. Shooting the pricing signs a disgusted, disgruntled glare, he steered his big Detroit monster into the gas station lot.

_Shit! Another 8 cents a damned gallon! Sam and I are gonna have to switch to motorcycles soon and put you in storage for special occasions, Baby, if this price keeps heading skyward!_

Naw, Baby, ain't gonna happen. I'll take a friggin' job before it comes to that!!

Reaching out he patted her wide dashboard lovingly, mumbling softly, "You're family, sweetheart."

Backing up to the closest pump, he popped the driver's door open with a loud comforting creak and shooting a loving glance at his 'lady' went inside to pay for gas and snacks.

Standing in line behind a young overweight, overwrought mother with three whiny, grabby kids in tow, Dean found himself growing impatient, sighing softly. He wished the clerk were a little more efficient.

"Maaaaa, I want candeeeee!" The dirty-faced, smallest child demanded loudly.

"MEEE TOOO!!!" yelled the other two, just as obnoxiously.

Exasperated the mother slapped their little greedy paws away from the candy shelf at the checkout. Pushing the unruly bangs of dark unkempt hair out of her eyes she shot them all a totally threatening "mom" glare.

"No! That's final! We need to get home so you can put on your costumes. You'll get plenty of candy in a little while. Remember?"

With that the little monsters began jumping up and down, squealing and cheering at the top of their greedy little lungs, "Yayyyyy! C'mon!! Let's go!"

Awww, shit!! Halloween! I forgot about tonight! I gotta get the hell outta here. Sammy had damned well better be done at the library by the time I get there!

_I want to be long gone and well on the road before all those friggin' rugrats hit the streets!_

The noisy quartet was barely away from the counter as Dean shoved his way forward dumping a large bag of chips, Sam's sunflower seeds, Dean's economy size bag of Peanut M&Ms, and the six-pack of Coke in front of the clerk.

"See that big, black car out there, I need $45 in gas too!" he blurted out breathlessly, fidgeting anxiously as the non-descript little man behind the counter slowly bagged his snacks and rang up the purchases and gas. _Come on, come on!_

Rushing out to the pump he tossed the bags on the seat, pumping the gas as quickly as the hose would allow. Cursing as the last twenty-five cents worth switched into that hated "trickle" mode they always used on pre-paid pumps, he grumbled silently about how gas stations just kept adding insult to injury with prices, pre-pay and the slow fuel delivery. Gas was a necessary evil, but that didn't mean he had to like this kind of treatment.

Cruising quickly towards the library he hoped that Sam hadn't been hit with some geek urge to do more 'digging and research' than they had previously discussed. Wasn't like they had to rush anywhere on this hunt. Werewolves were already past the lunar cycle so they had twenty-three more days to prepare.

Approaching the library slowly, he scanned the big front granite steps for any sign of his favorite resident geek. Nothing. He slowed even further, glancing at the sidewalk. No Sam. No available parking out front either so this was going to get ugly.

Come. On. Sammy! Where the hell are you? We gotta get going here.

_Don't make me come in there!! 'Cuz this won't be pretty! Gotta get on the road and away from these damned kids!!_

Coasting around the entire block where the building was situated, Dean detected no sign of his errant brother. Looking for an empty parking space only increased his level of frustration, as it became painfully obvious the entire town must have suddenly developed a craving for printed matter.

Nothing. Zip. Nada! What was he going to do? Finally Dean spotted an open spot on the street at the rear of the library, with of course, no entrance/exit on that wall for some insane reason!

Punching the gas, he got up close, maneuvering the big car into the spot. Putting the lever in Park, he shoved the big door open and popped into the street almost landing in the path of an oncoming SUV, whose driver laid on the horn and gestured rudely. Leaping up onto the curb, he momentarily marveled at a huge red 'X' spray painted on the sidewalk. _Go figure!_

He barreled down the sidewalk and around the corner towards the closest library entrance. Hoping the library was laid out easily so he could find Sammy quickly, he pushed his way through the big glass doors. Seeing the long line at the front desk he decided his time would be best spent just taking a quick tour and locating Sam on his own.

Lake City had a surprisingly large and active public library for only having 28,000 residents. Dean would have been impressed if he weren't feeling so pissed off. He became more pensive with each corner he turned. About eight minutes into the tour of the library he finally spotted Sam leaving the bank of copy machines located along the back wall.

Sam waved happily when he saw Dean approaching and then looked apprehensive as he saw his big brother's dark look.

"Sammy, what hell!! I've been waiting and driving around the block forever!" Dean struggled to keep his angry voice at a whisper. "What took you so long?"

"Sorry, man, must be a lot of school projects or something!" Sam sighed turning apologetic puppy-dog eyes in Dean's direction, hoping to diffuse the situation. "I just hafta pay for these copies…"

Incredulous, Dean hissed, "You didn't just shove coins in the damned machine?!"

"I'm sorry, man. Their machines aren't coin-operated."

Dean glared at his sibling, "Dammit, Sammy! Have you seen that checkout area?"

"Well, maybe you can get in one line and I'll get in the other and

the guy that gets to the desk first can pay," Sam stammered.

Dean spun on his heel heading for the checkout with Sam and his giraffe legs in hot pursuit.

Sam tried to brighten Dean's mood with a few quick smiles but Dean just looked away scowling.

Nothing's worse than the start of a road-trip with Dean in a foul mood. Life gets crappy enough without that!

Dean hissed in his direction, "Did you forget what day this is?! I wanted to be on the road before all the little monsters hit the streets!"

Neither of the hunters had ever really liked that holiday, but for Dean it was worse. Maybe it was the in-your-face idea of seeing children dressed as the creatures they hunted regularly.

One theory of Sam's, and his real favorite, had to do with the year the Impala was quietly parked, minding its own business, and was attacked with eggs and toilet paper.

_Thank God it hadn't ruined the paint job or Dean probably would have 'hunted' the pranksters._

Five minutes later Sam shoved some money at the little old librarian and impatiently told her to keep the change as a library contribution. He had to rush to catch up with Dean, who was already shoving through the front doors. Hurrying down the sidewalk and nearly flying around the block, Sam was surprised to find Dean standing stock-still in the middle of a huge red "X" on a bare patch of curbing.

Breathlessly, Sam inquired, "Wassup?!"

Dean turned slowly looking stunned as if he just been kicked in the stomach, eyes wild, mouth gaping.

" What the Fuck!! The Impala!! She's. Gone!!!"


	2. Chapter 2

I've Got a Crush on You - Chapter 2 'X' Marks the Spot 

Standing beside his dumbstruck brother, all Sam could do was gasp and then slide a comforting arm around Dean's sagging shoulders.

"WHERE. IS. SHE?!" Dean was aghast.

Using a soft, controlled voice, Sam queried, "Dean, this is such a big block. Are you sure you parked her here?"

Dean shot him a hurt, incredulous look, "What the hell, Sam!! Been parking that car for over ten years… Even when I'm drunk as a skunk I can always remember where I parked _my girl!" _Glancing down at the concrete he added, "I remember seeing this big 'X' when I got out of her."

Stepping onto the spot near the curb, Dean knelt on one knee looking at something intently.

"Dean, you think someone swiped her?"

"Look at this rubber, Sammy… I think somebody dragged her out of here!" His face reflected a mixture of fear and anger.

After spending years teasing his brother about that car, Sam had to admit that underneath everything Dean loved her for many reasons others could never fully understand, not even Sam.

Placing a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder he helped him to his feet. " Come on. Let's see if anyone in the library knows anything about what happened to her."

Heading back into the library the brothers were stopped short on the quest for information. Stepping up to the desk, between the two still fairly long lines of customers, Dean managed to get out, "Excuse me, but can you help…"

The two attending librarians shushed him in unison. Like Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee they spoke as one. "Young man, do you see all these people? Get to the end of the line and wait your turn!"

The wall of dirty looks emanating from "all the people" sent the humbled hunters to the end of the line. Sam shrugged and gave his older brother a sympathetic smile, mouthing the words, "This won't be too long."

Glancing at the big clock over the checkout area they noticed it was already 3:10.

They spent the next seventeen minutes in utter agony, though Dean's level of distress was certainly more evident than Sam's. Sam found it hard to believe that _ANYONE _could actually 'pace in place' but Dean appeared to be doing so. By 3:27 as he bellied up to the desk, Dean was worked into an absolute frenzy.

The white-haired librarian, glasses perched almost on the tip of her pinched little nose, gave him a look that would deflate a weather balloon and snottily inquired, "Well, _young man, _what is it you need help with?"

Taking a deep breath only after Sam shot him a "calm down" look, Dean spoke loudly enough for half the library to turn and stare, "Something happened to my car! I need information!"

Cutting him off, the woman, whose white hair actually had a blue tint to it, icily replied, "Car repair manuals are on the lower level, section two."

By then Dean was near the end of his extremely short tether, glaring at the creature in front of him, he spoke more adamantly. "I parked my car to come in to get my brother and now my car is missing!"

"Was it stolen? Did you leave the keys in it?" Again the imperious look.

"Look, lady, there are rubber marks on the pavement like it was dragged out of its parking spot. Where the HELL would it be dragged to and… Why?"

"Hmm… There could be various reasons for that. Parked in a no parking zone?"

Dean shook his head.

"In the crosswalk?"

"No! Dammit!"

"By a fire hydrant?"

"Lady, I put it next to the curbing behind the damned library in a totally empty spot!" he answered angrily.

The two old biddies exchanged knowing looks, nodding. With a sigh the second one asked, "Was there a red "X" by the space?"

"Well, yeah… But it didn't say no parking or anything!" Dean stammered.

"Well, next time you should ask someone. That space is 'RESERVED' for a new fire hydrant and the fire deptartment marked that spot to signal 'no parking' to get everyone used to it!" Prattled the old lady with the glasses, eyebrow arched in obvious disdain.

Dean became livid. "Excuse me, how was I supposed to KNOW that?!"

"Well," she replied snippily, "all the locals know!"

Sam was afraid Dean would fly right over that counter, so he slid into the middle of the now angry confrontation. Trying to maintain a civil tone and manner, he asked in a controlled voice, " Who would have taken it? And where?"

Digging into a desk drawer Miss Glasses shoved a business card at Sam, "Call that number."

Grabbing Dean by the arm, dragging him along as he headed outside, Sam was already keying the number into his cell phone. Glancing up at the clock one last time he noted it was already 3:32. With no hours listed on the card for the City Clerk's office, he prayed they were still open.

"City Hall," came the bored-sounding voice. "Clerk's Office, Wanda speaking. How may I help you?"

"Wanda, hey, hi. My brother and I have a problem. Seems we parked our car in a bad spot near the library and it may have been towed."

Sam paused listening to the voice on the other end. "Yeah, that's it. Black '67 Impala! No, it's not an abandoned car. No. How could they say that? Car is a classic. Beautifully kept, I might add."

He continued moving down the stairs dragging Dean by one arm while the older man kept shooting him questioning looks. As they hit the street, Sam saw a taxi and frantically flagged it down, still listening to the woman.

"Okay, I understand. We're on our way right now. Address correct on this business card? …Good, be there shortly. Bye."

Ushering Dean very unceremoniously into the back seat of the cab, Sam gave the driver the address and a promise of an extra five dollar tip for getting there before 4 p.m. Turning to Dean who looked frantically out of the loop, he swallowed hard and prepared himself for the onslaught.

"What happened? What was abandoned? Where's my damn car, man?"

"Dean. Dean. Calm down. The moron cop who called it in listed it as abandoned. It's not at the City Hall, but we have to go there first and pay a twenty-five dollar fine, then we can go pick it up. Stay calm, we'll get her back."

Touching the cabbie's shoulder, Sam nudged him to drive faster. "Will we make it before 4 p.m. Said they're closing early 'cuz it's Halloween!"

The older cabbie nodded, mumbling "We should make that with a couple of minutes to spare."

Sitting back finally able to breathe, Sam explained quietly to Dean, hoping not to upset him too badly that his beloved 'baby' had been taken to a junkyard rather that the city impound due to the 'abandoned' classification.

Dean's level of agitation again escalated his red face clashing with his bottle-green eyes. He was breathing through his mouth harshly. Eyes flashing frantically Dean continued to twist up like a pretzel as the cab headed to the address provided.

Sam spoke again to the driver, "Can you wait for us? We'll need a lift to the junkyard after we're done with the City Clerk."

"Shouldn't be a problem. Long as the wife doesn't call first.'

Suddenly, Dean spoke up in a youngish, strangled voice, "Are we there yet?"

Sam would have laughed if it weren't for the seriousness of their predicament. He guessed those words had _NEVER _passed through Dean's lips in all the years of travel with their dad.

An instant later the yellow vehicle swung quickly into the parking lot of a small plaza, coming to a jerky stop directly before a door stenciled with OFFICE OF CITY CLERK. Shoving the cab doors open simultaneously, the hunters leaped out, striding quickly to the door.

Seeing the blinds lowered Sam glanced at his watch, "We're okay. It's 3:57."

Dean twisted the doorknob but it wouldn't open.

Sam banged adamantly on the glass, calling out loudly, "Wanda! Wanda! It's us! The guys that called about the black '67 Impala. We have the money for the fine."

A mousy little man with an oversized handlebar moustache appeared at the door and spoke through the glass. "Wanda's not here! We're closed! Come back tomorrow. We open at ten."

"But.. but Wanda told us to get here by 4 p.m. and it isn't four yet!!

"Come on, man," Sam pleaded.

The little man shrugged nonchalantly, "Can't help you. Wanda went home to take her kids trick-or-treating. Sorry. Nothing I can do."

As quickly as he had appeared he was gone, leaving two seething mad hunters in his wake. Dean slammed his fist into the glass hard enough to knock the OPEN/CLOSED sign off the other side of the door.

"Dammit, I HATE friggin' Halloween!!" Dean yelled.

"Okay," said Sam sucking in a deep breath, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing angrily. "Next stop, junkyard."

Turning towards the parking lot, they gasped, their cab was gone!


	3. Chapter 3

**I've Got a Crush on You **_Chapter 3 _ Spooning in the Backseat with Dean 

Uncharacteristically quiet, Dean stood staring at the empty space previously occupied by the yellow taxi.

"Well, hell!" he snorted in disgust. "Damn bastard must be terrified of his wife!"

Not comprehending Dean's train of thought, Sam came out of his stunned silence long enough to mumble, "What?!"

"Cabbie said it wouldn't be a problem waiting unless his wife called. Obviously Mrs. Iwearthepantsinthisfamily must have called. Shit!" Dean chuckled dryly, shaking his head in disbelief.

Pointing to a dark mound on the island next to the parking space, Sam tried to inject a bit of positive news "Well, at least he left my laptop and bag."

Releasing an air-clearing sigh, Dean took several deep breaths, and squaring his shoulders, pivoted to face Sam. The panicked, angry Dean was suddenly a creature of the past. A look of hardheaded resolve was at home on his face. His clear, determined green eyes closed for just a moment as Dean mentally ran through their options.

"So, okay, we can't leave my 'baby' where she is. That's not even an option! We can call for another cab or jump on a bus. Saw a bus sign out by the curb as we pulled in. Wonder if the city buses go anywhere near this damned junkyard?" Dean headed for the street without another word, leaving Sam scrambling in his wake.

Approaching, the bus stop Dean smirked at the incongruity of the advertiser showing on the bench seat. _LAKE CITY TAXI 555-FAST _

Sam pulled out his cell phone, dialing the number shown. Without a word exchanged he slammed the phone shut with a groan.

"Busy, Sammy?"

"Hell, no, Dean! Damned cab company closed early!" he grimaced.

"Let me guess, friggin' Halloween?!" Dean queried his eyebrows arching for emphasis.

"Oh, hell, yeah!" A dejected Sam dropped disgustedly onto the bench plopping his bag down beside him.

Dean was about to join him when some helpful Samaritan on a bike glided by slowing down just long enough to call out "Buses quit running at 3 o'clock today, fellas! It's Halloween!"

Dean wanted to curse and throw things, preferably a brick through Wanda's office window… _or better still to toss old Miss Blue Hair from that damned library!_

"Friggin' small town bullshit!" Dean pushed off from where he was leaning against the bus-stop sign and grabbed Sam's bag. "What's the name of this crappy junkyard and do we have an address, Sam?"

"Pick-Your-Parts and Wanda said it was straight down the road near the edge of town, about five miles, I think." Sam scrambled off the seat and moved to join his brother.

"Well, my baby needs us and I don't care if I have to walk all the way. I'm going. You can stay here if you want. We'll come back for you once I get her free!"

Shaking his shaggy head Sam stepped towards the road as Dean smilingly joined him. "Thanks, Sammy."

Walking that entire distance with the prospect of mixing in with the emerging hordes of costumed little beggars was somehow not very appealing.

"We look okay, let's try 'hitchin'. Maybe get picked up by some really hot chicks in cheerleader or Catholic school girl costumes!" Dean beamed a huge grin in Sam's direction.

"Winchester luck says it'll be some smelly old truck driver or a couple of Hell's Angels on hogs - neither of which will be a costumes." Sam pointed out wryly.

Beginning to walk in the direction Sam had indicated, the hunters began to laugh and tease one another about how an entire town could 'shutdown' for a damned kiddie holiday. There weren't even many cars on the road as the adults must all be home getting the little demons, goblins, and witches ready for their yearly trip into candy cavity land.

Whole damned concept was probably a joint conspiracy between the candy companies and the dental association!

Having covered about twelve blocks already Dean was really anxious.

He was never without 'his girl' for this long, not by choice. He was going to be really pissed if they screwed up his alignment… or worse… by dragging his poor Black Beauty unwillingly from that friggin' unmarked pretend 'no parking' zone. He would gleefully hunt down each and every one of those involved.

Lost in his thoughts he was brought back to reality by Sam tugging rather forcefully on his arm. "Wake up, Dean. We got a ride."

There beside them was a fairly new dark blue mini-van with a smiling grandmotherly-looking face behind the wheel. The lady flashed a beatific smile as she asked, "Where are you boys headed? Want a lift?"

Sam gave his most charming college-boy smile, "Pick-Your-Parts Auto Salvage, Ma'am!"

"Well, heck, we gotta drive right past that place. Come on, boys! Jump on in! We're just on our way to a church party for the little ones. Honey, with your long legs you better ride up front here. Your buddy can sit behind you!" She popped the locks from her master control and the passenger sliding door opened a few inches.

Sam was already in and seated by the time Dean got the side door opened all the way. His heart nearly stopped!

Staring at him from the two rear bench seats were five kids all under the age of ten. The two he would be sharing a seat with were trapped uncomfortably in their kiddie car seats. The one closest to him was perhaps two years old and dressed in a clown outfit replete with full clownie grease paint make-up. A melted chocolate bar was gripped tightly in its small fist and more chocolate dribbling from the corner its open mouth.

His first thought was to order Sam out of the van and say a polite "thanks, but no thanks" to their kindly benefactress. His overriding thought however was of his poor black beast trapped within the high fences of some dreadful junkyard. Grimacing in disgust he decided he could "bite the bullet" for his baby. Taking a deep breath he faced his fate.

Climbing clumsily into the den of lions, he heard Grannie instructing the little ones, "Now, you kids, all behave and be nice to the nice young man."

He no sooner had closed the door than she put the vehicle in motion, causing the littlest one to roll a bit sideways against Dean. Looking at his leather coat sleeve he frowned at the sight of the smeared clown makeup and melted chocolate.

Looking up at the child whose face was now smeared, but cleaner, Dean noticed 'it' was ginning at him.

_Oh, Baby, I sure hope you appreciate my efforts tonight! I'm coming for you, but it sure hasn't been easy._

Over the raucous babbling and bickering of the kids, the hunters engaged in polite conversation with the amiable grandmother although Dean found himself hard put to keep up with both the conversation and the need to constantly fend off those chocolate-covered pre-school paws.

Just as Dean was thinking things couldn't get much worse the closest little hyperactive monster managed to locate a weapon of some sort and started whapping it against Dean's knees as hard as it could, smiling up at him as it gleefully pounded on him. Glaring, he moved to seize the item, but that action was shot down by the piercing stare of the older child in the second car seat.

As the thought crossed Dean's mind to take his chances and jump from a running vehicle, the lady up front blessedly turned to announce, "We're here!"

Pulling the mini-van into the expansive graveled lot, she made a face turning to Sam apologetically "Son, it looks like they may be closed already."

Rotating towards Dean's position in the rear, her ever-present smile converted to a frown. Seizing the weapon the child was using against Dean she spun forward tossing what now appeared to be a large wooden spoon out of her van window. Turning once more to face the misbehaving child, she admonished, "Shame on you. I said be nice to the man!"

Beaming a smile at a much-relieved Dean, she explained "So sorry, usually keep a wooden spoon for 'naughty little butts' in the vehicle. You should have complained." Then as a kindly afterthought, she added, "Is there anywhere else I can take you boys?"

Thankfully Sam was already scrambling from the vehicle dragging the escape door open for his tortured brother. Smiling gratefully he uttered, "No, ma'am, we appreciate this so very much. We'll be fine here. Thanks!"

As the van drove out of the lot with its screaming, squealing cargo, the two young hunters turned to face the darkened outer building.

"Dammit, Dean! It is closed!" Sam cursed, pointing to the neon CLOSED sign blinking in the side window. "Shit!"

Taking a deep breath Dean simply stated, "Well, baby, the cavalry is here. Now to figure out how to get you free!"

Walking silently around the rear of the building the hunters could see the entire operation in the dimming sun as night moved towards them.

Letting loose a low whistle, Dean stood staring, hands on his hips,"Something tells me this won't be a walk in the park, Sammy. For a damned junkyard the place has the fortifications of Fort Knox. Check out all that razor wire!

As if that weren't enough, from somewhere in the yard came the deep-throated barking of a dog. A very big dog.

Dean rolled his eyes heavenward, sighing he breathed, "Oh, _Baby_, the things I'll do for you!"


	4. Chapter 4

_**I've Got a Crush on You**__** Chapter 4 Crushing My Love!**_

Silently, studying the layout of the huge junkyard, Dean was appalled at the tough, but simple security features he could readily see from the damned parking lot. With everything except their pistols and his small boot knife locked in the trunk of the Impala, he and Sam were completely hamstrung on this little excursion.

Besides the high front fence topped with glistening razor wire, Dean noted a second fence fifty feet further back around a smaller internal compound, and along the top of that one, the ceramic insulators told him the fence carried an electrical charge. He shuddered unintentionally, wincing at the memory of his near-death by electrocution.

_Soooo not going anywhere near that bitch! I'd give my left nut for some insulated wire cutters right now!_

Framing the left and right sides of the yard were high, smooth wooden fences also crowned with that dreadful razor wire but just to make sure no one tried to scale the side walls anyway three foot deep ditches were dug along their bases. He could only guess the back wall would be more of the same. Sighing, he moved towards Sam.

_Makes you kinda wonder exactly what they're protecting in there… used car parts!? Yeah, sure they are! _Dean shook his head disbelievingly.

Sam was roaming back and forth dejectedly, trying to figure their next move, when Dean suddenly appeared at his side and grabbed his arm. With a warning look and a finger pressed to his lips, Dean signaled for cautious silence.

Suddenly voices accompanied by harsh, barking laughter shattered the silence on the other side of the ten-foot tall chain link fencing.

Deciding a confrontation might be helpful, Sam pulled free of Dean. Moving closer to the forbidding barrier, Sam called out loudly, "Hey!! Is there anyone in there? We need some help out front! Hey in there!"

From behind a decrepit old shed, suffering severely from wood rot and possibly held together only by the high stacks of old tires surrounding it, appeared two men dressed in grease-stained, worn gray coveralls. In their grimy fists were clutched cans of cheap malt liquor. The older of the two men approached Sam's position a look of distrust clouding his leathery face.

"Whatcha want?" He spat out tersely.

Hoping to dampen the man's obvious hostility, Sam flashed his friendliest, most disarming smile and ventured a bit closer, trying his damnedest to sound respectful.

"Sir, we're here to see if we can bail out a car that was towed away a couple of hours ago. Can you help us, please?"

Standing his ground like a pit bull defending its turf, the haggard-looking forty-ish man cast a wary appraising look at Dean who stood slightly to Sam's left, at-the-ready, fists balled for whatever might come.

Seemingly satisfied, that he was safe for now the dude directed an indifferent stare back at the taller, young man before him.

"Ain't nobody here. Come back in the morning, boy! We're closed!" he snarled.

Still smiling encouragingly, Sam tried again, "Well, _you're_ here. Maybe you two gentleman can help me."

'_Gentlemen', my friggin' ass!_

Sam ended his suggestion by reaching towards his rear pocket and his wallet, a move that did not escape the notice of either employee. Like moths drawn to a light, the two hired hands moved closer to the young man and his money. The older guy smacked his lips in obvious anticipation.

Sammy chuckled softly to himself, _Funny what a powerful motivating effect green paper has on even the most reluctant scumbag!_

"Okay, college boy, you show us whatchu got and we'll see what we can do," the younger grease monkey growled aggressively.

Sam pulled his last two twenties from his billfold and held them where they could be seen but not yet touched. He swore the younger guy in the back was actually salivating.

"A lousy forty bucks?" the older one barked. "What the fuck do you expect for that kinda loot?!"

"Don't worry, my brother's got plenty more," Sam lied. "Just need to know if our car is really here for one and, if it is, what's it going to take to get it on this side of the fence?" Sam continued to play negotiator as Dean stood silently by, watching, waiting.

"Okay, then, kid, money first and then we get 'chatty'."

The men sidled up to the fence poking their greedy, grimy fingers at Sam. Tipping back his head the older one poured the remainder of his malt liquor down his gullet, crushing and tossing the can aside. Belching loudly, he grinned a near toothless grin at Sam, waggling his fingers. Sam resisted the urge to recoil as that leering face brought back memories of his stay in Minnesota with the charming Benders.

"Ante up, boy! We can be real clams when we ain't been properly fed. Right, Denny?"

Nodding his head in enthusiastic agreement, the younger one snatched a twenty from Sam's outstretched fingers and the older one followed suit.

"Okay, you 'clams' have been fed! Now, help us." Sam demanded.

"So whatchu, boys, looking for?" the old one slurred.

"A big, black 1967 Chevy Impala." Dean interjected anxiously.

'Denny' perked right up and opened his mouth to speak but stopped short when the older one shot him the 'evil eye'.

Sam caught the motion and angrily demanded, "Well, is it here? Or not?"

Realizing they'd been caught with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar the old dude reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, it's here but nobody'll get near it 'til tomorrow. Boss-man locked it up in the main garage inside that fence," he gestured towards the electric fence. "He's the only one can get in there!"

Seeing Dean's sudden scowl they backed away from the fence as if he might be able to step right through it to beat them senseless.

"Ain't nothin' we can do for you! Go home!" Spat Denny, sounding not one bit apologetic. Turning back towards the inner yard, the men moved away quickly, but not quickly or quietly enough to keep the ever-observant hunters from hearing a little private conversation.

"Fuckin' morons! Love 'finding' cash that easy! Losers!" Followed by harsh laughter.

"Them boys better bring a red wagon tomorrow to pick up what's left of that car! Boss told Bob be here at six a.m. to pull the motor, doors, and hood and then toss what's left in the crusher. Already got a buyer on that fuckin' big ass motor!"

"Stupid suckers!" Denny answered, followed by raucous laughter befitting a standup comedian.

Dean's face twisted into an outraged snarl and if Sam hadn't wrapped his big arms around him he would have flown up the side of that fence and over it.

Speaking softly and in a controlled tone, Sam held Dean in check. "Dean, calm down. They'll leave sooner or later. We've got 'til sunup to get her out of there. We just hafta have a little patience is all. "

Sucking in a few deep breaths, nostrils flaring, Dean managed to reign in his overwhelming urge to attack immediately.

Through a set jaw and clenched teeth, Dean hissed, "You're right, Sammy. I know. I know. We just gotta save her is all." As he turned toward Sam, there was a glimmer of wetness along his thick lower lashes. Wisely, Sam pretended not to notice.

"Okay, let's find somewhere to stash our asses 'til those two stupid bastards leave." Frowning, Dean scanned the area. "Haven't seen any security cameras so far so I guess we're okay from that angle. Huh?"

Sam nodded, "I'm thinking they probably have alarms for this small outside office and maybe the one inside the second fence. Don't see any signs of other surveillance shit though."

Like a statue, Dean stood quietly, working through a mental plan. When he finally turned to share a thought with Sam, his face split into an instant grin as he eyes moved across the road. Spinning Sam around with a hand on his shoulder, he pointed, "Our very own duck-blind!"

Sammy smiled in the direction of the children's bus stop shanty sitting opposite from the far right corner of the parking lot. Fairly deep and already shrouded in the dark shadows of sundown, it was perfect. He followed as his big brother led the way across the dusty roadway, tripping momentarily on the big wooden spoon their driver had tossed away.

Ducking thru the wide, low doorway the hunters were pleased to have benches, and Sam gratefully set down his laptop and research-laden backpack. Stretching out their long frames on the narrow benches gave them some relief from the constant aggravation they'd been experiencing.

An hour and twenty minutes later, the boys were studying the dirt beneath their feet. Having found a broken twig Dean had traced a simple map of the junkyard compound as far as they'd seen so far.

"Basically built like a box inside a bigger box with the two fenced areas, I think. Looks like only that one big gate to the right of the 'pay here' office. Couldn't see anything other than big chains on that. Appears to be long rows of cars, butted up to the side fences all the way back. Sound right so far, Sammy?"

"Yeah, man. That old rickety shack on the right looks like it holds nothing but old tires. Up close to the fence, I saw another metal shed in the left corner hidden by that big ass sign of theirs. Got 'Hubcap Heaven' painted on the side, so no interest there, I don't think," added Sam.

"Naw, probably not. Saw that big lit-up shed about fifty feet inside that second fence. That's where those goons said they put my girl," he glanced up hopefully at Sam. "Also, got one of those trailers like on construction sites. Too damned dark to see anything else."

Tossing the stick aside, he lifted his eyes from the crude drawing. "Sammy, like it or not, I'm going in alone. Gonna need you on the outside in case I get stuck. I have to go over the front fence. Can't risk the noise shooting at some locks. Noise might bring the cops before I even get near that inside fence. Still not sure how to get around that."

Sam nodded. I_sn't like were fighting anything supernatural. Simple breaking and entering! Dean can do this in his sleep._

"Hey, Sammy, smile! Simple B&E, man. Can do that with one hand tied behind my back!" Dean grinned his reassurance.

Another half an hour passed and without warning, Dean suddenly planted his feet, moving to the doorway, pointing at headlights as two vehicles moved thru the gate. A figure jumped from one and moved to secure the big chains locking the gate."

"Oh, yeah! Showtime!!" Eyes burning in anticipation, Dean seized Sam's backpack, poised to run across the road as soon as the two pickup trucks were out of sight.

"Sammy, you have anything useful in this bag? Tools? …Weapons? …Bolt cutters? …Food??" Dean frowned as Sam gave a negative answer after each query. "M&M's?"

Sam's face lit up for a moment. "Hey, I got a few strips of Beef Jerky!"

Sam sifted through all the papers finally locating six plastic packages. Tucking two in his jacket pocket, he passed the rest to Dean, who tore one open with his teeth and greedily devoured the dried meat. Buttoning the others safely inside his flannel shirt pocket, he grinned at his sibling in gratitude.

Running across the road, Dean sprinted to within a few feet of the first fence. "Up and over I go. Wish me luck, Sam."

Stripping out of his leather coat, Dean landed it on the nasty razor wire above with a well-placed toss. As he started scaling the chain link fence like a human caterpillar, he paused when Sam laid a strong hand on his right calf.

Looking worried, Sam admonished him, "Dean, don't you take any chances with that electric fence. Remember what happened with that Rawhead!"

Dean winced as visions of Roy LaGrange and the reaper slid thru his mind. "Yeah. Don't worry, Sam. Won't get careless."

Nearing the top, Dean brought his bunched legs up tightly beneath his ass. Having purposely planned his climb for the area near the tire shed, he was banking on some luck. He intended to somersault over the top of the wire, snagging his leather jacket as he moved and sincerely hoped the tires would cushion his landing.

Smiling down at Sam one last time he took a deep breath, bunched his muscles, counted to three and launched himself…

Midair he almost grinned, his head and chest were clear, jacket was coming free, and his butt was nearly over… Home free!!

Or… not. Suddenly, searing pain as the pockets of his jeans caught the razor wire. He felt a sudden breeze in the back.

Oh, Shit!! So not good! God, my ass hurts. Hope Sam won't have to put any stitches there!!

Hitting the tires with a resounding thud, he lay still a moment getting his bearings and waiting for his vision to stabilize. Scrambling off the mound of tires, he stepped towards the fence and Sam's anxious face.

"God, Dean. Let me see your back! Are you okay?"

Turning his butt to Sam, Sam gave an appraisal, "Can't tell how bad but it's gashed, your buttocks are bleeding, but you'll survive. Your jeans on the other may have died a valiant death!"

Dean winced at the intense pain but putting on a grin turned to Sam, "Another Olympic performance!! Hey, I'm okay. This shouldn't take that long. The tires worked. Maybe that Winchester luck is changing for the better!"

That said, a huge dark shape came hurtling around the end of the tire shack, heading right for Dean, a growling set of big teeth showing. The hunters shared a look of terror as Dean struggled to scramble higher onto those tires!

"Shit! Forgot the friggin' dog! Damned luck!"

**_Reviews are always most welcome..._**


	5. Chapter 5

I've Got a Crush on You Chapter 5 Dances With Dogs 

Barking frantically, the huge muscular mass of flying fur and gnashing teeth streaked like a heat-seeking missile in Dean's direction.

Pure survival instincts seized control, overriding the fierce pain from the razor wire wounds and forcing the young hunter to scramble and claw his way to the pinnacle of the discarded tire stacks. Balancing precariously with one boot on either side of the flexing center hole of the uppermost tire, he reached out, gratefully touching the old shack's crumbling wooden wall for a little more stability.

Judging from its sheer size, massive, broad chest and squared snout, the beast counted pit bulls and bull mastiffs among its ancestors. Its impressive saliva-slobbering snout was loaded with the most enormous teeth Dean had ever encountered on anything shy of a full-blown werewolf!

Even as far above those jaws as Dean was, he knew he wouldn't be safe for long. Feeling the wobbly, rubber tower sway and shift a bit more with each crazed, clawing leap from the vicious animal, he scanned the area anxiously seeking an escape route.

Seeing the badly, decomposing condition of the tire shack's roof, he ruled it out as an option. He would most certainly plunge right through and his falling might well give the beast access to a possibly unconscious target. Shuddering at the thought of becoming a doggie chew toy, Dean looked elsewhere for rescue.

Sam's agitated, fearful calls both to Dean, for some assurance, and to the animal, hoping to provide some form of distraction, might work beneficially into the plan the wily hunter was now formulating.

From his high vantage point he saw a door on the metal hubcap shed swinging open wider and wider with each gust of wind.

_If it can open, it can also be closed_. M_ight be the perfect cage for trapping this frothing, snarling Hound of the Hell long enough to get my girl to safety!_

Across from the metal shed stood a large half-open dumpster. It would afford him some protection if he could just move undetected to that side of the yard in order to trap the beast.

Yeah, Dean!! Key word here… Undetected!! Hmmm... How? No weapons... No bait… No plan! Shit!

Just then Dean heard a low growl… not from the dog this time though. It was his belly. Without thinking he found himself reaching for his flannel shirt pocket. A sheepish grin slid across his handsome face.

_Winchester, you friggin' dumbass!!_

Raising his voice above the din the dog was making, he yelled, "Yo,

Sammy! You still have that Beef Jerky?"

"Well, yeah, Dean... Aw, Shit! Tell me you're NOT thinking of eating at a time like this!" An incredulous, disgusted look darkened Sam's face.

"Hell, no! More like thinking of NOT _being eaten_!" Dean snapped in an offended tone. With Dean's shout, the crazed beast became even more agitated and vociferous.

Instantly a huge grin split Sam's face in half as he realized what Dean was thinking. That could work!

"Do you want me to bait the dog now?"

"Well, I've got three left, I'm going to tease him a bit 'til the monster figures out they're edible. Once he's hooked I'll tear one in half and toss one piece about halfway towards you. As he moves, I'll toss the second one to your fence. Then you get to keep him occupied while I jump down and make a run for the hubcap shed. It has an open swinging door… Gonna see if I can lure him in there and trap him!"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

Dean's main concern was his gashed butt, his left flank was feeling pretty sore and the upper thigh was numbing out. Knowing his big car was in jeopardy was a real motivator. He just needed to cover those 75 feet like a bat out of hell and he'd be home free!

Well, not home free exactly… I still have to catch that monstrous mutt, negotiate getting through that not-so-friendly electric fence, find the Impala and then get her outta there and then outta town!! Come on, Dean! We've handled worse situations.

Grabbing hold of the raggedy edge of the shed roof, managing to avoid some dagger-like splinters, Dean steadied himself, enabling him to do a few leg squats to keep his flanks and thighs flexible. The picture of him hitting the ground and having an unusable leg conjured up all sorts of bloody little scenarios. Though stiff and sore the muscles seemed to be cooperating, he smiled to himself.

"Dean, you sure you can do this?" Sam's voice, though loud, sounded uncertain.

Sam was gripping the chain fence in his fists, straining for a better view of his wounded brother across the yard. Although the grounds were illuminated with towering sodium pole lamps, the harsh shadows they caused made it hard to see things along the fringes of the buildings.

"Don't really see where I've got much choice. These tires can tumble at any time; damned mound's getting more tilt to it by the minute."

Redirecting his eyes from the still-aggressive, leaping mutt, Dean watched as Sam stripped the packaging from his two large chunks of Jerky. Knowing Sam always had his back in times like this brought Dean solace.

Finishing his task, Sam reached behind his back, producing his Glock. "You know, Dean, we could just shoot the critter and be done with it! Be a hell of a lot easier."

"Sam, this monster's just doing his job. You can't kill him for that! Anyway, school bus stop out front means we have houses pretty close by. Until we get a lot closer to my girl, don't think we should attract any nosy neighbors or curious cops with gunplay too early in the game."

Seeing Sam slide his pistol into his jacket pocket, Dean realized the pain and numbness he was experiencing interfered with that comforting pressure he usually felt from his own .45. In a momentary panic his hand flew to his rear waistband.

All right! Still there… Worried my not-so-graceful swan dive knocked you loose, little buddy. Leave it to you to always stick with me.

Like a warrior readying for battle, Dean took his pistol from his rear waistband where it had been tightly secured throughout his prior activity, stowing it more safely in his deep inner coat pocket. Deciding to relocate everything from his jeans' pockets to the greater security of his jacket, he caressed his key to the Impala longingly before tucking the key ring in with his gun. _Just a little while longer, baby…_

Freeing the three snack packets from his shirt pocket, he methodically separated the meat from the plastic wrapping then tucked the pungent wrappers into his jeans pocket while the dried beef was returned to his buttoned shirt pocket. That done, Dean cautiously bent down, trying to maintain his balance, slowly raising his pants leg to check the security of his boot knife.

Totally satisfied all his equipment was present and properly stored he made his final calculations for the route he'd have to run. Glancing down once more at that damned bouncing, growling hound, he chuckled at the thought of it having Energizer Bunny in its bloodline. Although its leaping was slowly growing less frantic, the dog continued to focus most of its attention toward Dean, merely turning its head a bit at the sound of Sam's voice.

"Okay, Dean, whenever you're ready, just signal." Sam stood close to the fence, eyes on his sibling.

Waving his hand in the air signifying his readiness, Dean got ready to fly.

Praying a gust of wind wouldn't carry the featherweight wrapper out of 'sniffing' distance Dean pulled an empty wrapper from his jeans pocket, wadding it up carefully. Raising it to chest height he smiled as the aroma of Jerky wafted towards him on the next breeze. Carefully positioning before releasing it, he was relieved as it touched down just shy of the animal's feet.

Thankfully he watched the beast hesitate before its next leap, catching the floating motion of the shiny wrapper and sensing the scent change in the surrounding area. Zeroing in on the scrap of plastic, the dog pushed at it with that big snout.

Dropping another wrapper in the same manner, Dean was delighted when the huge critter raised its face to him with its nasty fangs hidden from view for the first time in their encounter. Its ears were pricked forward, eyes attentively locked on the hunter.

Extracting a chunk of Jerky from his shirt pocket, Dean quickly bit the dried treat into three pieces, using his teeth to flatten one piece so it made a visually larger target. The curious, but still aggressive, dog barked demandingly.

Turning his head in Sam's direction, Dean tried to control his tone of voice, not wanting to fuel the dog's territorial instincts.

"Sammy, got my pieces ready. Going to drop one straight to him then lob two towards you. If you tear yours into two or three chunks each and time your throws, I think we can pull this off."

Sam nodded, already pulling his Beef Jerky apart. With that assurance, Dean extended his arm and dropped the first piece.

With a low growl the hound pounced on the morsel with a loud snap of its huge teeth, causing both Dean and Sam to break out in grins. At least the creature recognized food.

Dean readied his legs for his own pounce, planning to drop onto a second smaller mound of tires and then to race as fast as possible for the large open dumpster twenty-five yards away. Dropping into a crouch, he held a piece of Jerky for the beast to see. Having spent years playing darts and throwing knives for survival, he knew his aim would be far and true. His throwing arm fired off two meat chunks with blinding speed and accuracy, leaving even the dog pausing to spot where the bits landed.

As the monster took off so did Dean, racing for his life, for _his baby._ He had no time to watch the beast and would have to listen for Sam's voice as his alarm system. Dean had already covered about a third of the distance when he stepped into an unseen depression in the heavily shadowed gravel. The move twisted his leg and judging from the searing pain in his buttocks he'd managed to re-open his congealing wounds. Scrabbling to regain his feet against the loose gravel, he pushed hard to make up for his lost momentum.

The seat of his jeans grew wet with fresh blood as he forced his feet to keep flying. Only another twenty feet and he'd have the dumpster for cover. _Come on! Move, Dean, move._

Suddenly Sam's voice boomed out, "Damn, Dean! Run! Shit! Here he comes!"

Struggling to finish those final fifteen feet he heard the monster dog's labored breathing and low growl as it maniacally closed the distance between man and beast! The dumpster loomed mere feet away. Dean launched himself hoping to throw his body over the dumpster's sidewall. Just as he felt he'd made it, something powerful and sharp hit him from the rear driving him chest first against the solid metal surface. His head, arms and upper chest jutting above the top edge of the steel, he grabbed frantically at the interior trying to find some point of leverage.

From the scratching and snarling, he knew the dog was struggling to get a better grip on him. Bared fangs tore at his jacket and jeans, sharp nails and rough, calloused footpads scraped and ripped at his jeans and kicking lower legs. As he felt enormous canine teeth shred the waistband and back seam of his jeans, Dean fought to pull himself higher throwing his upper body into the empty dumpster, his hips catching on the lip of the container, legs flailing, dog hanging above the ground, gripping the jeans determinedly.

Dean's heartbeat was pounding in his ears, his breath ragged. The hunter managed to drag more of his body to safety, somehow maneuvering his knife boot close enough to tear his blade free. The weight of the beast and its frantic twisting and struggling, as it gripped his jeans in its bear-trap teeth, nearly pulled him back out of the big tank.

Releasing his button and zipper, Dean furiously scrambled to slide out of his torn jeans, allowing the heavy weight of the dog to drag the fabric to a level mid-thigh. Twisting fiercely against that weight and against his own hanging mass, Dean somehow managed to roll his body over so only his lower legs projected from the dumpster's protective shield.

Jack-knifing his body forward Dean struggled, clutching at fistfuls of the restrictive fabric. Carefully trying to avoid his thighs and calves, using his wickedly sharp knife he slit the seams apart all the way through the bottom hems. With the resulting abrupt release, he heard the dog yelp as it hit the ground, and at nearly the same moment, he groaned, thudding headfirst onto the floor of the dumpster.

The big dog threw its head about in a foaming frenzy grappling with the disembodied, bloody jeans. Snarling and growling it would be awhile before it calmed down enough for Dean to try to lure it into the shed.

Though both his head and ass were now throbbing, all the parts in between seemed in working order, Dean smiled at his small victory. Trying to sit upright on the metal bottom of his grungy, temporary fort, Dean grunted in pain as his gashes made their searing, seeping presence known. Seeing the wet blood smears on the metal walls, he knew he would have to work faster to avoid getting a nasty infection started.

Raising his voice Dean called out to his surely frantic little brother, "Sam, hey, I made it! A little worse for wear, but old White Fang didn't do too much damage. This whole thing is one big pain in the ass!!"

With that comment both hunters broke into laughter, part humor, part relief. Dean glanced at his watch… midnight.

Reaching into the cuff of his boot, Dean stowed his knife safely away. Wincing painfully as he tried to maneuver his lower body into a somewhat comfortable position, Dean groaned internally at the knowledge that he wasn't even halfway through the long route leading to _his girl._

_At least that friggin' mutt didn't get the rump roast he seemed to want._ Dean lifted the matted, bloody shorts away from his painful, seeping cuts hoping to let them congeal and seal. He would kill for a bottle of peroxide. Sighing aloud he settled in to wait out the menacing mutt.

_Shit! Can our luck get any worse? _


	6. Chapter 6

I've Got a Crush on You - Chapter 6 Mooning and Spooning 

Groping around in his inner coat pockets Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he found a little something for the pain. Dragging his silver whiskey flask from its hiding spot, he tore off the cap, sucking down a healthy mouthful. He relished the instant burn on his tongue, down his throat and the small fire that flared in his belly. Awfully tempted to finish it off, he shook his head at the thought, knowing it might impair his judgment, vision or actions when paired with the blood loss. Recapping the flask he slid it back into his pocket for later.

Another thirty minutes ticked painfully by before Dean felt safe enough to get a visual bearing on his canine nemesis. Locating several metal paint cans among the scant debris in the big dumpster, he was able to build a set of steps giving him enough vertical lift to reach for and clamber quietly onto the lid covering half of the trash container.

Finding it impossible to sit upright with the agonizing pain in his left rear cheek, the hunter opted to lie on his right side easing silently nearer to the front rim of the metal cover. Peering down from his hidden observation platform Dean winced as he witnessed the demise and total destruction of what had started the day as a great-fitting, comfortable pair of Levis. _Shit! My favorite pair of jeans, too!_

Looking towards the shed, Dean relaxed a little more as he saw something actually cooperating for a change. Still wavering ever so slightly in the wind, the heavy shed door gaped open wide enough for him to launch the meaty bait well into the darkened interior when the time came. A bright yellow 55-gallon drum, in close proximity to the door, would serve as his barricade.

After the mild success he'd experienced with the first baiting, Dean hoped for an instant replay, but without the attack. Suddenly becoming aware that Sam had moved, he scanned quickly to the right, spotting Sam moving along the fence towards the area behind the shed. He knew Sam had anticipated Dean's next move and was attempting to provide what little backup he could offer.

Once more separating a strip of Jerky into three pieces, Dean carefully dropped the last empty wrapper to the ground near the big beast. On its feet in an instant, snuffling at the tantalizing scent, the dog was on the alert for more savory scraps.

Wriggling as close to the edge as he could, ready to drop to the ground in a flash and race behind the huge mutt, Dean made sure the animal was focused on his arm as his first toss landed on the loose gravel about half the distance to the shed. Before the big dog's feet even began to move Dean lobbed the second piece into the heavily shadowed shed. Hearing it ping off a hubcap somewhere inside, the third piece was launched on the run as the hunter propelled himself in fleet-footed pursuit after the creature.

His well-muscled m_o_mentum carried him directly and painfully into the surface of the swinging door only a fraction of a second behind the dog. who'd predictably followed the snacks into the darkened recesses of the small building.

Breathlessly slamming the door shut, Dean half-pulled, half-pivoted the heavy 55-gallon container into a blocking position against the door. About to lean back and catch a breath, the only thing Dean really caught was Sam's frantic warning.

"Dean, another door on the back! Don't think it's totally closed!"

Dean flew as if his tail was on fire, which was nearly true due to the burning pain raging through his oozing cuts and buttocks.

Jumping over haphazardly piled stacks of various hubcaps, he reached the back of the shed. Spying a three-inch gap between the door and the doorframe, the hunter lunged at the surface. As his shoulder made solid bruising impact, a wet, toothy snout suddenly appeared at the opening. Forcing the door closed Dean could hear the massive dog's muffled yelp of pain, followed by prolonged snarling.

Searching for anything heavy enough to withstand the beast's weight as it hurled itself against the door, Dean's mind raced frantically, then his heart sank. Nothing of any real size or mass was even remotely within his grasp.

_Now what? Can't stand here like a damn doorstop all friggin' night! Shit! What the fuck do I do now?!_

Twisting his body around to put his back against the bouncing door, Dean's face made hard contact with a protruding object. Ignoring the bloody cut it left on his cheek, Dean broke into a huge grin as he came eye to eye with the rusty hasp of an old slide bolt set mounted on the doorframe complete with a fairly new Master Lock swinging open from the eye.

_Of all the friggin' dumb luck!! Yahtzee!!_

When the bolt stubbornly refused to move despite all his attempts, Dean grabbed an old hubcap and pounded at it for just a little added persuasion. Finally forcing the barrel into the metal track on the door, he threaded the padlock thru the hasp eye and secured the entrance.

Heaving a deep sigh of relief, he collapsed against the surface, catching a welcome glimpse of Sam's smiling face just beyond the fence.

"Thanks, Sammy. Saved my ass, literally!" he grinned. "Cujo has been caged."

Sam's relieved smile progressed to actual laughter as he realized how Dean was dressed --or rather, undressed. Whipping out his cell phone he'd snapped two photos before it even registered with the older hunter that he was clad in his leather coat, shirts, boots and socks and a pair of torn, bloody boxers!

"Hey, bro, I thought you told that girl in Colorado you 'don't do shorts'. Aw, Dean, with those cute legs, you should!"

Snatching a stone from the gravel lot, Dean fired it with awesome accuracy but certainly not with the strength he could have. Hitting Sam squarely in the chest, his younger brother released an audible "Ouch!"

Seeing a particularly shiny Moon hubcap laying atop one of the many stacks, Dean lurched forward seizing the expensive saucer-like disk. Moving to a spot more brightly illuminated, he carefully positioned his body and the mirrored surface so he could get a glimpse of his painful, damaged behind. Tugging at the waistband of his boxers, and carefully peeling the bloodied fabric away from his well-muscled hindquarters, he got ready to make his appraisal.

A sharp intake of breath accompanied his first view of the injuries the razor wire had inflicted. Three nearly half-inch deep bloody gashes about five inches in length traveled from top to bottom over the curve of his rump's left cheek. Neat slices as if done with a scalpel, they exposed the fatty tissue beneath.

_Definitely going to take at least several butterfly bandages... Hell! No friggin' way Sam gets near that damned camera phone of his while he plays Nurse Nancy this time!! Shit! I'd never hear the end of this one… Hehehe… the END... Oh yeah... So funny! Remind me to laugh later! Owww!!_

Seeing what Dean was doing, Sam's continued chuckling at Dean's expense quickly morphed into true brotherly concern.

"Dean, how bad is it?"

"Gonna need some serious repairs here, man. Hope I can make it a do-it-yourself project."

Trying to put Dean at ease, in case his help was needed, Sam dragged an old memory into the light.

"Hey! You had to fix my ass when we climbed that spiked fence after snitching those apples that time, remember?"

Dean chuckled, "Nice try, Sammy. I seem to remember you were only eight back then. Really appreciate the thought though."

"Well, better get started on that fence, I guess." Almost as an afterthought, Dean suddenly hoisted the hubcap aloft, letting out a snicker. "Hey, Sam, figure this is really a _Moon _hubcap now, huh?"

Reaching the electrified fence, Dean walked along the perimeter trying to locate any sign of the main controls. Finding nothing he decided to just quietly dig his way under the fence. No other way around it, this was the simplest path, maybe not the fastest, but certainly the most direct.

Locating a somewhat sandy area beside the fence immediately opposite the large garage, Dean bent over, and using the hubcap, scraped at the hopefully loose soil. Feeling like a little kid digging at the beach, he was delighted when the amount of sand in the soil looked as if it might make this an easier project than anticipated.

Standing outside the exterior fence with a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball, Sam found it nearly impossible to breathe. Just watching Dean approach that electrified fence was enough to produce a panic attack and make his heartbeat terribly erratic.

He could still remember the absolute terror he felt at the prospect of losing Dean, that all-consuming search to find the eventual cure. Sam had suffered through nightmares for weeks following Dean's electrocution during that Rawhead hunt. He had nearly lost his soul-mate and brother that time and he never wanted to feel that horror again.

His heroic brother, who had raised Sam nearly single-handedly, would throw himself selflessly in the path of the Devil himself to protect Sam. Wanting so badly to be right there with Dean, riding shotgun as Dean barreled towards rescuing his beloved metal monster, Sam felt helpless. Sam clung to the fence, wanting to make this portion of the quest safer somehow. Keeping his eyes glued on Dean, he desperately wished he could help.

Dean tried to drop to a kneeling position, knowing that would give him the best leverage for digging. Try as he might, the pain was simply too much for him to bear for any more than a minute or two. Feeling blood once again coursing down his thick muscular cheek and thigh, slicking the back of his left knee, he had to concede that working from a prone position was best. He glanced at his watch… 1:16 am. A little over four hours before some barbarian would arrive to tear _his beautiful baby_ apart.

Removing his leather coat and rolling it neatly, he crawled forward from his kneeling position. Using his coat to elevate his chest and shoulders he wielded the big round disk, plowing into the soil, pushing the dirt quickly out of the way.

_Dammit!! She's a fucking Classic! How could anyone just tear her apart like that? My Baby! My girl! Shit, how many hours did I put into rebuilding her after Dad died?_

_No one could ever know how many hunts she's carried us on. How many nights she gave us a roof over our heads when money was too tight. How many times did tired little Sammy sprawl in that big backseat asleep during long road trips with Dad? Or the comfort of knowing that big ass motor can outrun nearly anything and actually has! Shit! Even Mom loved that car! She teased Dad about loving the car more than her, but that wasn't true!_

Dean continued carving his tunnel into the dirt beneath the fence despite the tears now tracing angrily down his cheeks. Keeping the shiny Moon disk far from any possible contact with the electrified metal mesh, he gratefully watched the mound of excavated earth grow.

He would be dangerously near those wires shortly and wanted something non-metallic for the close work. Lifting up to support himself on one aching arm, his gaze shifted to the silent, watchful Sam.

"Sammy! Every damned thing in this place seems to be metal. Can you poke around on that side? Find something wood or plastic or insulated that I can use to dig up close to this fence? Getting fried is no fun!"

"Yeah, man. Gotcha covered. Gotta be something. Be right back!" Sam turned away. Suddenly he pushed back to the fence, "Dean, please be careful!"

Dean lost sight of his little brother as he moved to the front of the yard. He knew no one was more aware of the hideous results of electrocution than his little brother. Dean would get his safe tool even if Sam had to make something.

Returning to the laborious business at hand, he sighed aloud. His arms ached, dorsal and pectoral muscles were on fire. Even his neck and shoulders blades were growing stiff and sore. Wanting to gain as much ground as he could before his body screeched to a halt, he dug like a madman.

_If only I could've convinced Demon Dog to work with me! With all that energy of his, we could've had this done in minutes!_

Judging from the width and depth of his channel Dean was allowing enough wiggle-room. The crucial part was still ahead however. He would have to go wider and deeper still to accommodate getting his muscular frame and wide shoulders under the most dangerous section. Without a metal-free tool he was at an impasse temporarily.

Smiling grimly at the excavated area, he lifted his face towards the big building that was holding _his girl_ captive.

_Don't you worry your shiny little head, baby, I'm gonna rescue you if I gotta dig this damned tunnel with my bare hands!!_

Rolling onto his undamaged side he gave his screaming muscles a break. Sighing aloud, he listened to his stomach grumbling. Glancing toward the hubcap shed, he saw the yellow barrel was still in place. With that assurance, he reached into his shirt packet and dragged out his last strip of Beef Jerky. Growling aloud with obvious pleasure, he gnawed on the piece, savoring the chewy texture of the smoked treat. It wasn't exactly that big juicy burger he'd envisioned for supper, but it would have to do.

Out front Sam was impatiently prowling the outer building's entire exterior. Frustration reflected vividly in his tense face, Dean's life may well depend on whatever tool he was able to procure. Every damned thing he encountered so far had been made of metal. Shaking his shaggy head dejectedly, he sighed and moved away from the building towards the large graveled lot.

Zeroing in on the solitary trash barrel standing in the middle of the parking lot, Sam tipped over the big steel drum and began the nasty, repugnant job of sorting through the trash it had held. Discarded rotting fast-food meals, beer and soda cans, even dirty underwear and socks but no real tools. Finally, he located two eight-inch lengths of rubber hose. Certainly something he could apply as an insulator, but to what tool? He shoved them into his pocket just in case.

Scanning the empty parking area, Sam saw a narrow dark shape lying on the rough gravel about fifteen feet away. A few long-legged strides brought him to an old acquaintance of Dean's. There nestled in the loose stone was that large wooden spoon their helpful chauffeur had tossed from the van!

Scowling, Sam bent down low to scoop it up. Turning it over in his big hands, giving a small shrug of his shoulders and a tiny nod, he spun on his heels and headed back towards Dean and the tunnel work.

_Dean's gonna have me committed when he sees this! Hmm… what else can we do? May not be pretty or huge like a shovel, but it is the size of one of those big school cafeteria spoons. Well, it's just gonna hafta do!_

As he drew near to the fence he made the pleasant discovery that thanks to the yucky coat of greasepaint applied by that scary clown toddler, one of the chunks of hose could be eased onto the spoon handle. A near perfect fit. With the spoon already being wood, the rubber would be more for Dean's comfort than for insulation.

Approaching the high fence, he waved happily at Dean who currently lay on his side taking a breather. Dean waved back and struggled to get to his feet, stumbling a bit as he moved towards his sibling.

"Find anything, Sammy?"

Dean looked pale and drawn, making Sam worry about the amount of blood loss. He was probably hungry and thirsty too. Sam had hoped to find a soda machine by the main building but had no such luck.

Looking a bit chagrined, Sam held the large spoon out in front of him as Dean drew closer. Cringing in advance, waiting for Dean's diatribe to begin, he moved reluctantly to the metal barrier. Feeling as if he'd really disappointed his brother this time, he tried to apologize in advance, but the words never got past Sam's lips.

"Sammy! How cool is that?! Forgot the old lady had tossed it… Wow!!

It's bigger than I remembered. Works for me! Really appreciate the padded handle, man. What a great idea!"

Sam stood frozen in place, mouth gaping with eyes wide, totally disbelieving. Seeing the huge grateful smile on Dean's face, Sam wondered if delirium, such as this, could be part of the blood loss.

"You're not pissed?" Sam's voice sounded unsure, almost timid.

"Pissed?! Hell, no! I need something with some real length to it. This spoon's gotta be 18 inches long! It's awesome. Was afraid I'd wind up digging with my bare hands. Already feel enough like some friggin' groundhog. Great job, Sam."

With a parting grin, Dean spun around and headed back to his tunnel. That wondrous, Winchester grin faded almost the moment Dean turned his bloody, wounded backside to his brother. Tremors coursed up and down his nearly bare legs, he began to shiver and that only served to re-awaken the pain in the area that had started to grow numb. Sniffing the air, filled with the oily hydraulic scent of the sludge pit next to his little excavation, Dean could smell and feel something else… that late autumn coolness and the wind carrying the scent of dying leaves.

Glancing about the junkyard, he noticed little swirling eddies of dust and dirt kicking up as the late night wind increased. A deep frown furrowed his handsome brow as he realized the temperature of the October nighttime air was rapidly dropping. Sam was wearing only a lightweight jacket and Dean knew his little brother had to be feeling this creeping chill as well.

Suddenly another realization hit home as he recognized a darker area in the spot where he had lain. Blood. If this wind continued to escalate and the temperature continued to drop he was running the very real risk of hypothermia. Wearing his jacket was not a workable option the restriction of the fabric would make already difficult digging nearly impossible. Between the blood-loss, lack of hydration, and the cold Dean knew that not only the Impala had something to fear.

Casting his eyes to the garage area, he flashed a determined smile._ Baby, we all need to get the hell outta here. Just a little while longer, I promise. Wish me luck!_

Dropping once again to his belly, he became a whirling dervish, wielding the big wooden spoon with a Winchester-driven sense of urgency. Soon the only thing showing above ground was his lower body half.

Burrowing under the dangerous fence was slow tedious work with the wooden spoon but Dean was making awesome time. The makeshift padded handle Sam had contrived made the spoon easier to grip and most certainly had kept Dean's hands protected as well. By his watch face he could see it was nearly 2:40. With that monster due at 6 a.m. Dean knew he had a scant three hours to finish up and get through those gates out front.

Dean was now laying face down about three feet beneath ground level with only his knees and lower legs above the excavation. He'd carved the area on this side deeper and wider so he'd have somewhere to deposit the dirt he dragged down from the far side of the fence. His strategy was working beautifully. Using that extra reach the spoon's long handle provided, he was able to scoop soil away from the other side quite quickly. Though he'd only been using the metal hubcap to relocate the dirt now that he was so terrifying face-to-fence close, he was relieved that soon he'd have enough room to finish the other end of the tunnel with the larger object.

Pausing to take a short break, he stood in his tunnel, gathered his leather jacket together tying the sleeves in a knot and with a painful thrust of his tired, aching arms and shoulders lobbed it over the electric fence, As it cleared the fence something he'd had in a pocket slid free and hit the fence. Hoping it was nothing more than a gas receipt or bandana, Dean watched, fascinated!

Fireworks momentarily erupted as the charge did its job and electrified the offending item. Showers of sparks reigned down on his head and face!

Dean scrambled from the hole, moving quickly to an area where he knew Sam could see him, waving his arms, frantic to reassure his definitely alert and now terrified younger brother.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean shouted towards the tall figure frantically trying to scale the fence. "It's okay! I'm fine. Something just touched the fence by accident. It wasn't me!"

Dean made it to the exterior fence within moments, just in time to see a white-faced, wet-eyed Sam quickly wiping the tears from his face with his dirty hands, leaving dark streaks over his worried young face.

Breathless, chest heaving, Sam exclaimed, "Dean! What was that? Shit, I was so scared!"

Dean reassuringly slipped his own fingers over Sam's long ones clutching so desperately at the fence. He smiled gently at the frightened blue-green eyes. "It's okay. I tossed my jacket over the fence and something made contact. I promise you, Sammy, I'm not being reckless. Promise."

Smiling through the still-brimming tears, Sam nodded in acceptance. Tossing a much relieved snark as his way of releasing Dean to resume his work, Sam mumbled, "Still think this 'Risky Business' look of yours bears repeating. Girls might like it."

Dean glanced over his shoulder on the way back to the 'dig' just to be sure Sam hadn't decided to play 'paparazzi' again. Somehow he intended to get his hands on that damned cell phone and hit 'delete'.

As he headed for his 'dig' he couldn't help but notice the more intense wind gusts that carried more and more dying leaves into contact with the electrified wires. As contact was made they burst instantly into flames, fluttering to the earth.

Crawling once more into his foxhole, Dean dug with renewed enthusiasm. Judging by the open space now appearing along the fence's edge on the other side, he figured another eight to ten minutes should do it. Finished with the spoon work, he thankfully seized the edge of the big metal disk and dragged more and more earth towards him. Just a few more inches downward and another foot wider. Twisting onto his right side he dug scoop after scoop of soil away from under the fence trying to widen his entry way.

Just a little bit more, baby. Won't be long now and we'll all be home free! Just a few more inches…

No sooner had the words been thought than he suddenly felt the disk's edge snag hard on something. Dean became aware of the increased acrid smell of used motor oil and hydraulic fluid, as if he was facedown under the hood of truck. Looking at the area surrounding the disk, he realized it looked wet, slick somehow. Tearing the disk free from whatever it was caught on he had a rude awakening. Apparently the sludge pit, where they sluiced off the fluids from the crushed cars, had a flexible plastic liner. A plastic liner that the big, shiny hubcap had just sliced into!

His sidewall had a steady, sludgy trickle oozing down it, heading for the bottom of his little tunnel. It would slowly fill with the nasty smelling viscous fluids.

_Oh shit! No time to waste! Dammit! Gotta get outta here now! Don't need that shit in my cuts. Don't need sparks to ignite this!_


	7. Chapter 7

**I've Got a Crush on You **_**Chapter 7 Daddy's Little Girl**_

Panic makes different people do different things, some will flee from the situation, and some will fight. Classic Dean Winchester response was, as always, 'stand your ground and whatever you were doing, do more!' And so it was, that he flew into an adrenaline-driven frenzy of digging. What may have taken another ten minutes, now would take five. The sludgy, dirty fluid continued to seep through the earthen wall, beginning to pool on the freshly dug tunnel floor.

As the wind level increased so did the number of leaves bursting into flames for venturing too close to the electric charge in the wires. Too close to his flammable floor as well!

Not allowing his intense concentration to wander even momentarily, Dean dragged soil toward him, pushing it aside at an insane speed. His muscles burned to such a point, even he wasn't sure he could finish the job. His breath came in labored gasps. Unable to rise to his knees with that electrified wire only a mere inches above his back, he had to push through the soil for enough room to wiggle out from under. He _had _to have twenty-four to thirty inches open on that far side to drag his body free. Protecting his vicious cuts from the sludge meant staying belly down and he needed enough leeway to pull his body thickness easily and contact-free from beneath the dangerous wires. The slimy feel on his clothes and bare skin and the vile, overpowering smell of the oily runoff motivated him even further.

Five more huge hubcap-formed troughs were dug extra deep with motions fueled only by his mind. His muscles totally spent, to the point of near paralysis, he felt a wave of wobbly weakness washing over him. He had hit a point of total exhaustion. Glancing at his wristwatch he realized it was nearly 3:20!

_It'll just have to do! I'll just have to be extra careful…_

Pausing for a moment, feeling lightheaded, he forced his lungs to draw in several noxious breaths, then dug his boots into the higher rear wall and pushed his worn body further. Dean's sheer determination demanded that his weary arms pull him forward. Clawing at the dirt, he forced his way slowly ahead, inch by painful inch.

As his boots hit the sludge-covered floor of his burrow, the progress stopped. He groaned in frustration. The harder he tried to advance the more he slid. Cursing repeatedly kicking against the oily muck, that tough Winchester tenacity took control. Taking a very deep breath, his focus overcame his anger.

_I'll be there, baby, just a few more minutes. Hang in there!_

Seeing his discarded spoon atop a dirt mound he seized it and using sheer willpower compelled his arms to rise above the ground, and with a loud grunt Dean drove the spoon handle into the soil as an anchor, giving him just enough support to edge forward. Like a large inchworm he drew his body slowly, painfully from the slimy pit. His head cleared quite comfortably but the muscular wide shoulders and meatier hips and thighs required more concentration and cautious manipulation.

Once free, he rolled onto his back, ignoring the pain radiating from his buttocks and legs, and momentarily allowed his eyes to feast on the beauty of the night sky. Enjoying the refreshing peace it brought to eyes that had looked at nothing but dirt for the past few hours. Finally sucking in a few breaths of much sweeter air, he struggled to his feet. Seeing his crumpled jacket, he reached wearily down and snagged a sleeve, still clutching his spoon. Knowing the sight of his beautiful girl would totally restore his energy Dean shuffled almost drunkenly towards the big garage. Pausing only once he took in the condition of his frontal appearance.

_Oh, fuck! Look at me. Shit! How can I get in her like this!! Damn I'll never get this nasty shit off of her seats!_

His jaw, arms, shirts, boxers and legs were thickly coated in the vilest concoction of discarded automobile fluids and mucky, sludgy mud, anyone could imagine. He was sure he resembled something far worse than any chick mud wrestler! The only upside seemed to be the degree of insulation the gooey paste supplied, at least he wasn't cold anymore!

His good boots were definitely ruined and he groaned mentally realizing his comfortable leather jacket was the only wardrobe survivor tonight.

Pushing to a window on the side of the building, he frowned darkly. Apparently the filthy glass windows kept prying eyes out. Hating to be accosted by any more surprises, Dean cautiously approached the side door. His muddy fingers silently curled around the worn brass knob. Twisting cautiously he smiled as the handle turned freely in his grip. Rotating it until he was certain the latch was fully retracted, he pushed it open only an inch or so. Immediately, loud, twangy country western music assaulted his ears, Dean winced as if he'd been struck.

_Can't even play REAL music for God's sake! Who listens to that crap_? 

Forcing his pain-dulled mind to concentrate, his keen hunter's ears differentiated between the loud music and other sounds. Dean dropped his jacket and crept closer to the door. Someone was mumbling from somewhere across the shop but no second voice answered. The one-sided conversation continued and the sounds of lug nuts being dropped into a metal hubcap, followed by the thump of a falling mounted tire floated through the music as well. In another moment there came a triumphant, "Damn! That's done, now for that fucking trunk."

With that comment Dean twisted his aching body sideways and noiselessly slipped through the door into the building's interior. The big Impala sparkled like a black diamond, even up on jacks under the fluorescent shop lights hung haphazardly from the corrugated roof. A grungy-looking kid in gray coveralls, identical to those worn by the other slimeballs, was working on Dean's _baby girl._

Controlling his flaring anger and the urge to lunge across the area and throttle the little bastard, Dean forced himself to look around. He was stunned at the sight before him.

_Damn bastards!! Place is a fucking chop shop! Man, look at all these friggin' body parts, motors… even whole cars! Okay, so now the Fort Knox defenses make sense… Evil bastards! No respect for anything. Gimme a damned demon anytime!_

The kid had a crowbar gripped in both hands, moving towards the Impala's huge locked trunk. Dean needed to get to him and get to him quickly. Mind spinning through scenarios, he knew crowbars made deadly weapons. Looking down Dean noticed he still clutched the big wooden spoon in his right hand, with a what-the-hell-why-not twitch of his features, and a little shrug of his shoulders the hunter stealthily slid up behind the pre-occupied young man.

Shoving the spoon hard against the kid's back Dean growled threateningly, "You make a damned move or cry out, I swear to God I'll shoot you!"

The crowbar hit the concrete floor with a loud ringing sound and the teen's hands flew into the air in surrender. "God! Shit! Don't shoot me, mister! I ain't gonna do nothing!"

Dean continued his bluff, grabbing the boy's collar in his other hand he pushed the boy towards the door, shoving him face first into a corner.

"Don't you fucking move 'til I say so," he snarled. "Hear me?"

The employee nodded his head in terrified agreement. The kid was shaking so badly Dean almost felt sorry for him. But, hey, the little bastard was doing evil things to Dean's beloved Impala. He deserved no mercy! Reaching around the edge of the doorway Dean dropped the spoon, retrieved his jacket and fishing for his keys and his Desert Eagle .45 from the inner pocket, he ordered the kid to turn around.

"Turn around, you little bastard. Face me."

The kid shook his head in abject fear. "Mister, I swear I don't know what you look like and don't wanna know. Just take my wallet and leave, please…?"

"Kid, you're gonna see my face one way or the other, so just fuckin' turn around. Now."

Slowly turning to face his captor, the kid kept his eyes closed. He was shaking so badly his skinny knees were knocking together. His whole body was trembling. Dean was surprised he hadn't pissed in his coveralls.

"You just do what I friggin' tell you to do and we'll get along just fine. Now open your damn eyes!"

His panicked blue eyes open wide, the boy blinked disbelievingly at the sight before him. _What the hell…!_

"Mister, what the fuck happened to you! Look like some damned 'swamp monster' off the horror channel!"

"Yeah, well this 'monster' is mighty pissed off about the disrespect and plain meanness you assholes have shown his _baby. _What the fuck is wrong with you people! Are you fuckin' nuts?! She's a damned classic for God's sake!"

With a mighty shove Dean propelled the kid back across the shop to stand beside his poor abused_ black beauty. His baby!_ She had already been stripped of her big wheels and her hood was propped open, an engine hoist suspended threateningly above her.

Stepping to her side Dean wiped a hand clean on the kid's uniform and reached out to lovingly to caress the glossy black roof.

"It's okay, baby. I'm here. You're safe now. It's going to be all right," Dean murmured softly as if to an injured lover.

Witnessing the man's crazy behavior the boy decided it would be safest to do whatever this crazy guy wanted. Maybe he'd leave and just let him be.

Dean seemed lost in thought, smiling oddly at the big vehicle, when the boy finally spoke. "Can I leave now?"

"Hell, no, you can't friggin' leave!" Dean shouted, blinking hard, groaning as the painful throbbing in his head increased fueled by the exertion and blood loss… and that friggin' music.

"First of all, turn off that damned shitkicker music!"

Dean waited while the boy scurried to the radio and then returned in silence. "Now, you're gonna put her wheels back on and make sure those damned nuts are good and tight or you might wind up missing yours!"

Opening the trunk, Dean pulled out the Remington, knowing it was one mean-looking little weapon. He smiled as he saw the teenager's eyes grow even bigger at the sight. Of course the shells were full of rock salt but the kid didn't know that. Dragging out a coil of rope, he set that and his jacket on the trunk lid as he gently closed it. He gave the trunk deck a gentle pat as an afterthought.

Seeing the pimple-faced kid just standing, staring, Dean waved the shotgun in his direction. "What the hell are you waiting for? Christmas? Get busy!"

Stepping up to the front of the big car, the young man lifted a wheel off the concrete floor and set about remounting it on the axle. Once all the lugs were good and tight he continued on to the next wheel.

"So, what the hell are you doing here at this late, or should I say, early hour? Shouldn't you be home in bed or screwing a girlfriend or something?" Dean queried.

The kid chuckled, "Yeah, sure, in my dreams… I work late 'cuz that way, the shit I gotta do, don't get in nobody else's way. I empty the trunks, remove the wheels and all the other piddly ass shit nobody else'll do."

Dean wanted to touch _Daddy's little girl_ but knew the sludge might hurt her paint job so he dejectedly kept his distance. Forlornly admiring that big metal shape he'd been so afraid of losing, he leaned against a nearby workbench, with a grunt, grimacing at the pain as his badly damaged butt came into contact with the cold, hard steel.

"Aren't you afraid in here all alone? You are alone, right… Stanley?" Dean figured the name on the coverall had to be right, no one else would want to carry that moniker on his clothing. Suddenly dawning on him that he'd never really checked for other late staffers, he figured the kid was too frightened to lie.

"Nawww. Boss locks me in with that big electric fence. Nobody gets in here," the kid glanced in Dean's direction. "Least ways not 'til tonight. How the hell did you get in here anyway, mister?"

Dean grimaced at the memory. "Burrowed under the fence."

"Shit! How the fuck did you get past Fuffy?! That monster hates everybody, even the boss, I think." The kid looked up at Dean with something akin to admiration.

Snorting in disbelief, Dean laughed. "Cujo's real name is Fluffy?!"

The kid broke into a grin, "Oh, that's what happened to your pants, huh?"

Dean smirked at the kid, "Yeah, real sweet puppy, that one! So, are the fence controls in the trailer across the way?"

"Yeah, think so. Boss never lets anyone in there. May be on a timer or something, 'cuz he's here at 6:00 sharp every workday." Looking up at the slimy, dirty rough-looking stranger the kid spoke hesitantly, "Almost done here. What are you gonna do now?"

Dean did a walk-around on the car's exterior looking for anything out of place. As he passed over the discarded crowbar he bent down uncomfortably and picked it up, gripping it in the hand holding his .45.

"Anybody do anything under the hood or under the car yet?"

"Nope. Not yet. Bob was supposed to yank the motor when he comes in at six. I was almost done with what I had to do." Shifting his eyes to a clock up on the wall, the teen observed, "It's four o'clock."

Motioning towards the door with the little sawed-off shotgun Dean ushered the kid outside, causing the kid to start trembling all over again. Dean wasn't about to apologize to one of the bad guys but he really pitied this poor little flunky.

"Stop it, kid. Do as you're told and nothing bad will happen to you. We're just taking a walk to the office is all! Is it locked?"

"I think so. I keep my distance usually. Only the boss and some guy with a lady go in there. Don't know their names though; guess they keep the books or something for Mr. Malone."

Dean regretted not having a waistband so he could stow his trusty .45. And donning his good jacket, so he had pockets, was completely out considering his nasty new body paint.

As they ambled quietly towards the darkened trailer, Dean caught sight of Sam outside the fence. Stopping for a moment, he waved in Sam's direction to let him know everything was okay. Catching the motion, the boy froze in his tracks.

Turning frightened eyes towards the stranger, he asked, "You got a partner?"

Flipping the heavy crowbar to the kid, Dean waggled the handgun towards the trailer door. "It's my kid brother, we're on an extended road trip. Now, take the crowbar and pry that door open… No! Wait a minute!"

Roughly shoving the kid aside Dean inspected the entrance for any sign of rigged alarms. Nothing. Like the kid said, between old Fluffy and the electrified fence, nobody ever got inside.

"It's okay. Tear it open." Dean stood to one side pistol in one hand, shotgun in the other. The very picture of a crazed badass!

With a loud metallic groan the locking mechanism on the door tore loose from the frame. As the door swung open some automatic sensor switched on the inside overhead lights. Dean and the boy stood hip to hip, frozen in the open doorway, eyes wide open and jaws dropped in utter, stunned silence!

_What the friggin' hell… !!_


	8. Chapter 8

**I've Got a Crush on You**_**Chapter 8 **_ What a Dope!

As the damaged door swung open, Dean's eyes immediately focused on the broken full-length mirror mounted on the inside of the door. Sighing at the wicked humor with which fate dealt his hand of cards throughout his life, he groaned, rolling his eyes.

_Oh shit, just what I need… more bad luck! What's that rule…? One broken mirror equals seven years of bad luck. As if we didn't break enough damned mirrors with Bloody Mary that night!!_

Standing in the doorway, staring into the blazing light of the trailer's interior, Dean and Stanley gawked at one another in stunned silence.

Carefully scrutinizing the inside walls of the trailer from the relative safety of the gravel walkway, Dean scanned for any indications of active surveillance equipment. Finding nothing, he set his weapons down outside the trailer and stepped cautiously over the threshold, his bottle-green eyes taking in the eclectic articles contained by the large room.

"What the hell is all this shit, kid?"

Stanley had followed Dean's lead stepping inside the mouth of the brightly lit room, and like Dean, was confused by all the things he saw. He turned towards Dean, a mixed expression of shock and puzzlement on his teenaged, pimpled face. "Man, I swear I sure didn't know anything about this place! What is all this stuff anyway?"

Coming to a halt in the cleanly organized twelve-by-thirty foot room, both Dean and the boy were soon having difficulty breathing with the almost overpowering chemical fumes immediately engulfing them. So intense was the smell that both men found themselves making a conscious effort to breathe no more than absolutely necessary.

To Dean's observant senses the fumes appeared to be a combination of something akin to a broken bottle of chloroform mixed into the already powerful acidic smells always present in high school chemistry labs. Whatever it was seared their throats, made their eyes burn and begin to water.

The boy pointed out two large air purification units situated prominently at either end of the room. Dean nodded and in turn poked his finger at several gas masks suspended above an island style counter apparently for easy emergency access.

Shrugging his shoulders at the implied question in the older man's eyes, Stan sucked in a quick, short breath muttering a fast, "Don't ask me…"

Besides the standard issue kitchen stove, refrigerator, and sink all snugly nestled against the wall nearest the door, the long countertops held a wide array of objects. Mostly scientific equipment that ranged from Bunsen burners to large glass vials and beakers, even including autoclaves and several large boxy pieces of sophisticated laboratory machines.

Puzzled at first by the seemingly weird and incongruous-looking assortment of goods stacked high about the room's walls, Dean's brow furrowed deeply. His intelligent eyes flitted from item to item trying to draw some correlation between the insane combinations of materials that confronted him.

In one corner stood a cluster of tanks labeled HYDROGEN in big block letters, while smaller containers stamped platinum dioxide, phosphoric acid, and anhydrous ammonia crowded onto several, metal shelving units in large quantities.

Across the room other shelves held entire, unopened cases of some foreign brand of rechargeable batteries, several national brands of hard-to-obtain cough remedies and diet medications, perhaps forty to fifty cases of each.

Suddenly, Dean's tired eyes brightened, the gleam sparked by a memory of one of those reality TV crime shows, paired with the recognition of where he'd encountered this acrid odor previously.

That vile smell had assaulted his and Sam's nostrils once before while on a hunt. Two years ago, he and Sam had pursued a wounded werewolf into a graffiti- covered abandoned house in Philly—a 'crack' house. _Sonuvabitch!!_

_A friggin' meth lab!!! Drug-pushing, car-stealing murderous scum!!_

Striding angrily to the refrigerator, Dean wrenched the door open not knowing what he'd find. To his pleasant surprise, it was just that, a refrigerator full of such goodies as bottled water, a container of fresh fruit salad and an almost full bucket of fried chicken. Seizing a small empty box from a nearby table, Dean unceremoniously chucked a dozen bottles of water and the fruit salad into it. Shoving the container of leftover chicken into Stanley's hands along with two more water bottles, he slammed the door shut.

Spotting several lab coats and a box of fabric shoe 'booties' near the door a small grin graced Dean's tired, ashen face as he moved to snag both a freshly-laundered, neatly-folded white coat and a handful of the shoe coverings.

_Oh yeah, baby, gonna keep you clean now!! Doctor Dean is in the house!_

Grabbing the teen's arm, Dean dragged him towards the open doorway. Still trying to keep their breathing to a minimum due to the noxious fumes, they moved silently into the fresh night air. They stood there for a few moments gasping for the breath they had been unable to gain previously. Setting down their supply box near his weapons, Dean bent at the waist, sucking in lungful after lungful of fresh air.

Stanley turned his confused eyes to study the hunter's drawn face. "What the fuck was all that crap?"

With a sigh and a disgusted glare back into the lit-up room, Dean angrily hissed, "What the hell kinda guy is this boss of yours, kid? What? A chop shop isn't enough for the illegal, greedy bastard?! Sleazy sonuvabitch!"

Pausing for another breath of fresh air, he continued, "My guess is that this is what they call a 'clean room' what with the lab coats and booties. Must be making some kind of illegal drugs. Little fancier than the places they showed on TV but, I'm thinking it's a friggin' meth lab! God knows what else they're making in there!"

"A what?! Are you sure? Those things are dangerous, right? They can explode, can't they?" From the fear and shock reflected in the teenager's eyes and voice no one could doubt his innocence as far as having a role in the boss's illicit drug business.

Dean chewed at his lower lip, "Yeah, so I've heard. But that'd be actually good luck! It'd kill the people making this nasty shit! Think of everyone hurt or killed by this awful crap!"

The boy's expression bordered on pain, almost grief, as he suddenly, clumsily tilted to the left, thudding hard against the trailer wall, trying unsuccessfully to maintain his crumbling composure.

Dean moved closer, quickly catching Stanley's shoulders. "Are you okay, man? Is it the fumes? What's wrong?"

Blinking against the wetness in his sad eyes, Stanley tried to contain the tears in the presence of this tough but caring man, but to no avail.

No longer able to fight it, the boy surrendered to his raging emotions, his face crumpling. Huge tears slalomed a haphazard course down his pimpled cheeks and chin, dripping from his hairless jaw, as dismal sobs racked his slender frame.

Stammering as he opened his mouth to answer, "I… I didn't know… I… I swear. I never guessed…"

Feeling the need to comfort the agitated boy, Dean placed a comforting hand on Stan's still trembling shoulder, anxiously leaning down to make eye contact, "Can I help? What is it? I know you didn't have anything to do with this shit, Stan."

Struggling to regain some semblance of control, Stanley coughed several times restoring his ability to speak. His tongue stumbled over the words as he began his explanation. " My cousin… he died two months ago. We were… best friends … He lived next door since we were three. Kip was nineteen, same as me, we… we were playing basketball… and he just fell over… dead. The doctors said he'd been smoking 'crack'… and the exercise put too… too much stress on his heart. Nineteen!!"

His face twisted horribly at those not-so-distant memories of the dying boy, as Stanley played the 'blame game' with his conscience. Looking pleadingly into the stranger's kind eyes, his speech faltered, "What if… What if he got it here?! He used to… visit me here sometimes. Maybe if I had… if I had known… maybe I coulda stopped…"

Once again Stan melted into a sobbing wreck, leaning heavily against the oil and mud-covered man who simply wrapped his strong arms around the boy and allowed him to vent his pain, his anger. They stood quietly until Stanley had managed to absorb some sense of peace from Dean's kind support.

"Stanley, you can't blame yourself for this. Your cousin made his own decisions. He didn't ask your opinion before he smoked that evil shit! I'm sure if he had, you would have talked him out of it. You know you would have." Dean held the boy away at arms length, forcing the teen to look into his sincere green eyes. "You know I'm right."

Despite his pained eyes, Stanley surprisingly broke into a small smile. Looking up and down at Dean's tall form he couldn't help himself. Even with the sincere face of the hunter so close to his own, all he saw at the moment was that nasty coating of oily mud and the humor was further enhanced by the incongruity of the stranger's current attire or rather a lack of it.

Unsure what had triggered this odd mixture of grief merging into mirth, Dean's eyes moved to the trailer door to view his own reflection in the shattered mirror. Even he began to chuckle over the insane looking creature staring back at him. Some avenging angel he made! More like an avenging madman.

Now that Stanley seemed in control of himself, Dean gathered his guns, carefully tucking them into the box he'd filled with provisions and nodded towards the fence. "We still have to get past that damned thing. I didn't see any controls in there. Where else do you think they'd be, Stan?"

Stanley pointed towards the side of the trailer. "There's another door on the other end… Maybe there's another section."

Using the sleeve of his coverall to scrub at the wetness on his face, Stan felt a little more together and stepped quickly to the side of the trailer to show Dean the additional door. Hearing the helpful intruder falling in beside him, he turned his face towards the man. "You know… I don't even know your name?"

Arching an eyebrow in the teen's direction, Dean saw the trustworthy face of an ally rather than a foe as he had first believed. Dean flashed that patented devil-may-care grin of his, juggling the box into his other arm, he extended a dirt-covered hand, "Dean. My name's Dean and the kid outside the fence is Sam, my brother. We really were on a roadtrip before all this shit went down. Nice town you got here by the way. Real friendly. Real honest."

Stan grinned, shaking hands firmly, chuckling at Dean's smart-ass comments, "Yeah, well some of us aren't total crooks. I'm really sorry about your car, man. Long trip in that car would be awesome! I'll help you get it out of here if it's the last thing I do. If nothing else we got keys to the tow truck in the garage, maybe I can just knock the electric fence down!"

Trying to hang onto the box, the food and his guns and still maneuver his arm to catch a glimpse of his watch, Dean nearly lost it all. Stan caught the edge of the box, stabilizing it just a moment before it tumbled, tugging it out of Dean's reluctant grip. Looking at the watch face, Dean knew they had to hurry. It was already 4:40 !

"Just want to help, Dean. Let me." Arriving at the second door, Stan's smile fell from his young face. His face twisted into an angry scowl. "Is there a way to make them stop? Make the boss pay?"

"Yeah, kid, don't worry. We're not leaving him in business. Before we leave we'll do something to bring this illegal operation down and all the sons of bitches with it."

Seeing the determined green eyes and set look of the man's jaw, Stan knew he could trust him. "You know there are others involved. Mr. Malone's brother-in-law, Jim, is a cop and he helps with getting cars sent here. He's the one tagged your car. Him and his wife, Wanda, come out here after the vehicles and parts get sold to collect their share."

"Wanda? Did you say Wanda? Does she work for the city?"

"Yeah. I think so. Why?"

Dean's handsome face contorted in amused disgust. _Bunch of friggin' crooks! Whole damned family of them!_

Nudging Stanley out of the way, Dean did a quick perusal of the second doorjamb looking for wires or alarms. Again nothing. Stepping back, he glanced at the boy, who had set the heavy box down and was now ready for anything. Flashing a quick devilish grin, Dean winked and in another moment powerfully kicked the door off its hinges!

Mouth open, eyes wide, the teen stared in amazement. Breaking into a huge grin, his voice dripped with admiration, "Wow!! Just like in the movies! Man, you are fuckin' awesome!"

Grinning proudly, Dean held in the pained gasp rising in his chest as the muscles in his wounded posterior screamed from the sudden wrenching movement. _Suck it up, Winchester…_ Dean painfully led the way into what appeared to be a fairly well organized office. Flipping on the light switch, they blinked against the blazing, nearly blinding light.

Once their eyes grew accustomed to the light, they began methodically opening file cabinets and desk drawers, smiling at all the well marked accounting books and file folders they uncovered. Malone was arrogant and stupid enough to record every single purchase for his drug manufacturing in one book and all the illegal drug sales in another, including names and dates involved. Another set of books and files neatly documented all the clandestine vehicle activity. Payments made to a Jim and Wanda Thomas were everywhere throughout the pages.

"Shit!! Imagine how easy it would be to nail these bastards with all this as evidence. Oh God, this is so sweet! Dean, one of my friends is the son of our district attorney. Do you think we could just dump all this shit on their porch? Think he'd file charges?"

Dean grinned back at Stan. "Yeah, kid. I guess we could do that. Make sure you don't see _his name_ in any of the books though first."

On the wall near the door was a small access panel opening it cautiously Dean smirked in delight._ Bingo! You sneaky little sonuvabitch! I knew you were hiding in here somewhere._

Reaching into the recessed cubbyhole he flipped the 'off' switch and immediately an almost indiscernible electronic hum ceased! A joyful, relieved smile slid over Dean's grayed lips with that single little gesture. He would, of course, test the fence before touching it. His cynical hunter's side had been protecting him way too many years to not trust it now.

"Okay, Stan, let's take this show on the road! Stack up all the ledgers and anything else that looks like evidence, and we'll haul it outta here." Dean looked for a suitable means of transport. Spying a large cardboard box in the far corner partially filled with shipping supplies, he flipped the container over dumping the contents onto the floor. He and the boy refilled the box almost to capacity.

Grabbing the unopened bottle of Crown Royal whiskey he'd spotted in Malone's desk drawer, with a mumbled "Malone, you don't deserve this," Dean pushed toward the door. Turning back to make sure his skinny little companion could handle the box of records, he smiled openly at the kid's dogged determination to see this thing through. Looking as if the box weighed nearly as much as he did, the kid valiantly fought it through the door and into the yard.

After collecting their smaller box with all their provisions and weapons, the two men shuffled toward the big garage. Dean stopped once again as they neared Sam's vantage point. Peering intently across the yard, Dean made out the tall figure standing outside the fence, like a dark ghost blending into the shadows of the night, Sam the sentinel.

Yelling as loud as his chemically burned throat would allow, Dean reported "Yo, Sammy. Found the controls. Be out in about ten minutes!"

Though he was too far away to physically see Sam's face, he knew Sam's was smiling that big relieved tight-lipped smile of his. That smile he always sported as they clambered into the Impala at the end of a successful hunt. The smile that never failed to bring out Dean's 'big brother' urge to reach over and ruffle that shaggy head of hair.

Entering the chop shop, Dean made a faltering, pained beeline for the Impala, setting the supplies on top of the trunk. Stan was right on his heels until they crossed the doorway, then as he entered, the boy dramatically dropped the big heavy box onto the floor with a deafening _Bam! _that echoed through the big garage for several seconds.

Wearily Dean stood beside his big black Detroit machine, smiling. "Well, _baby, _we're almost free. Just a little while now."

God! Baby, I sure as hell hope so… Dammit! I'm feeling so… so bad. Dizzy, queasy, must be those friggin' fumes. Oh yeah… and blood loss, too. Shit! My head is pounding and my ass… Hell, girl, we won't even go there! Just gotta get outta these filthy clothes… Damn, heart beats even getting crazy… Oh, fuck… I…

Standing behind Dean in the well-lit area for the first time tonight, Stanley was stunned by the copious amount of blood both wet and caked on the torn boxers Dean wore, heavily coating the back of his leg as well. _How the hell did he stay on his feet! What strength Dean must have!_

Suddenly, Dean was staggering drunkenly toward a workbench, one trembling hand extended to stop his fall. Stepping quickly across the concrete floor, Stanley grabbed Dean's elbow just as Dean's knees collapsed beneath him. Frantically the teen tried to support the hunter's weight but could only help ease him to the floor, seeing the intense pain reflected in the tired green eyes.

"Dean, man, hold on. What can I get for you?"

Dean pointed weakly at the provisions box on top of the trunk. "Water. Please."

Stanley uncapped two bottles, helping Dean get one to his mouth and as Dean gulped it down greedily, pushed a fresh one into Dean's other hand. Pushing up off the floor Stan moved to a large cabinet and noisily rummaged through its contents. Clutching something in his hand he returned to Dean's side. Extending an amber prescriptionttle, Stan smiled. "Don't know if you want one now, they're pretty strong, Dean. That's Percocet. Doctor gave them to me when I wrenched my knee last month. Take them with you, 'cuz I know you need them a hell of a lot more than I do."

"Thanks, Stan, they sure will help. Need my jacket, Stan." Dean mumbled.

Again, Stan played 'fetch', bringing the jacket to the injured hunter. Digging in his inner pocket, Dean dragged out his silver flask and struggled to remove the cap, but turned once more to the boy for his assistance.

Glancing up at the big wall clock, Dean breathed, "Nearly 5:10! We gotta get outta here, kid. Do you have a way to leave here, take those papers to your friend's father?"

Breaking into a big grin, Stan looked much older, much wiser. "Hell, yeah! I'm taking the tow truck. After I drop the ledgers off…I'll leave it somewhere. How about you, Dean… Can I help?"

"Might just need some, kid, feeling a bit woozy..." That said, Dean's body went suddenly limp, his head falling against his chest… eyes closed!!


	9. Chapter 9

_**I've Got a Crush on You**__** Chapter 9 **_I Got You, Babe!!

Staring at the unconscious hunter collapsed in his arms and seeing the big wall clock strike 5:15 Stan knew he had to come up with a plan. He had his hands full and his teenaged mind was racing frantically.

_Shit, Stan!! Think! Get a fuckin' grip! Okay…okay… He's out and we gotta get outta here. Got a lousy forty-five minutes to get out those front gates! Okay… Breathe, Stan… Think… What would Dean do? Do I get his brother? Naw, take too damned long… I could put him in the car and drive him outta here… Nope! Can't! Gotta get the ledgers and tow truck… What would Dean do? Oh, yeah…!_

Carefully leaning the senseless hunter against the rear wheel of the big car, Stan gently extricated himself from under Dean's dead weight. Running quickly to the far end of the shop, he tore the cover off a small white plastic cabinet hanging on the wall. Grabbing an even smaller white container from the unit, he spun on his heel and raced back to Dean's side, sliding to his knees as he stopped.

Quickly tearing the small package open, Stan dumped its contents onto the concrete. Fumbling through the small items, he found the small cardboard cylinders he needed. Smiling grimly, he positioned himself with Dean's inert body draped across his legs. Cradling the hunter's head in his free arm, Stan's hand clenched one of the two little tubes and squeezing it hard he felt the glass tube shatter inside it.

Instantly the bitter sharp odor of ammonia was released, making Stan's eyes water as he tried to hold his own breath. Extending the broken tube under Dean's nose, he was rewarded quickly with a twitch of the man's body and a flutter of his eyelashes. Gasping for breath, Dean blinked several times as he tried to regain his bearings, remembering where he was and why he was there.

"Dean, don't sit up yet. You passed out. Blood loss, I think. Lay here for a second or two, okay." Stan became aware that he was still holding the ammonia-laden tube close to Dean's face and with a flick of his wrist he tossed it across the garage floor. "Sorry about the smell, man. Ammonia. Thank God for first aid kits though!"

With the acrid smell at a distance, Dean now took in a few head-clearing breaths and smiled up at the pimpled face of his young guardian. "Stan, good move. Thanks, dude. Think you can get me back on my feet? What time is it? We gotta get a move on!"

"5:20 ! Yeah, come on, you can lean on me. Dean, I've been thinking… You're cut up real bad! My grandmother is a retired surgical nurse. We gotta get you to her house as soon as we're outta here. She's real cool. You'll like her… She's got supplies. She can fix you up." Stanley's blue pleading eyes locked on Dean's pain-filled green ones.

Nodding his head at the boy, Dean pushed his arms beneath him. He knew the kid was right. "Okay, Stan. I promise we'll visit Granny before we leave town. Let's get going. Not much time and we've got a lot to do."

Rising to his feet, Stan bent low to gently slide an arm around Dean's waist, slowly easing the hunter onto his own wobbly legs. "Okay. Do we just leave this all here and just grab all the books for my friend's dad or do we call the cops? Or what?"

"I'm thinking, Stan. Gimme a minute, huh?" Leaning back against the workbench for support, Dean looked around the garage, noting all the flammable materials in it. After a few moments he broke into a grin. "Okay, Stan. We've got a plan… But first, man, I hafta get outta this crap." He gestured with a wave of his hand towards his nasty-looking attire.

"I'll help, Dean." Moving to the box on the trunk lid, Stanley seized the lab coat and booties Dean had snagged from the lab. "Is that why you grabbed these?"

"Yeah. Can't get in _my girl _dressed like this. Might need some help though…" Dean peeled his way out of his ruined flannel shirt with great difficulty until Stan helped with the gummy, gross material. Grabbing a fistful of the ruined t-shirt, Dean attempted to pull it over his head, but once again Stan came to his rescue, tossing the clothing into a small pile.

Stan looked enviously at the man's tightly muscled chest and arms, knowing how muscles impressed the girls. He'd been trying for years to gain a bit of muscle but nothing seemed to work. Perhaps even more impressive was the myriad of bruises and scars covering the hunter's upper body. _What the hell does Dean do for a living?!_

Seeing Stan's appraising, inquisitive stare, Dean tried to change the subject, temporarily avoiding the inevitable questions in the kid's eyes. "Stan, the lab coat… please?"

Snapping out of his reverie, Stan quickly unfolded the lab coat and held it open allowing Dean to slide his arms into the crisp white sleeves. Dean slipped a few buttons through the slots provided and tucked the booties into the coat pocket for later use.

"So… Let's get on this. Where's this tow truck of yours, Stan? Can you get the ledgers safely into it, before we set a torch to this place?"

At the mention of setting a fire, Stan's eyes grew large. "Torch it?! Seriously? Won't that get us in a lot of trouble? I don't want to get arrested."

Dean laid a hand on the boy's shoulder forcing him to stop rambling. "Kid, we can't let them continue with all this shit. A couple of arson spots will bring in fire investigators, today! No way Malone will stay in operation. Once your buddy's dad sees the ledgers the cops'll be on Malone and the others like white on rice, trust me. You'll be a hero. Okay?"

Blinking under the bright lights, Stan nodded like a bobble-head doll, "Yeah, yeah, I know you're right, Dean."

"Okay, you get the books and box stowed and I'll start our firebomb preparations. Go!"

Quickly snatching a small set of keys attached to a six-inch wrench lying on the workbench, Stan headed toward the far end of the big building. With a few hard shoves, Stan managed to force open the large double doors until they were fully open. From Dean's location, he could see a massive red tow truck sitting just outside. The motor cranked to a roar instantly and with Stan at the wheel rumbled inside.

Downing the contents of one more bottle of water, Dean smiled, feeling a little more strength seeping through his beaten body.

Retrieving the empty water bottles from the floor, he stiffly headed towards the multitude of containers along the wall near the side door.

_Oh, yeah. There'll be a hot time in the old town tonight!! Malone, you are so going down. Teach you to mess with my girl!_

Dean carefully filled the three plastic bottles with some of the highly flammable liquids, happily finding toluene and acetone among them, and then cautiously carried them back to the big workbench.

_Now, for a few long wicks… and our Molotov cocktails are ready to be served!_

Yanking his poor deceased t-shirt from the floor Dean tore several long strips from it, wadding the fabric into the mouth of each of the bottles. Easily shattered glass bottles would have been his first choice, but it might take time to find glass containers and time was something they just didn't have.

Glancing across the aisle, he saw that Stan had finished dragging the box to the big truck. Dean headed on over to assist with the loading. Stanley flashed him a huge adrenaline-fed grin as they slid the ledger collection across the huge truck's bench seat.

"Oh, the Boss will have a surprise this morning, won't he?"

Dean ruffled the kid's dark curly hair. "I'd start packing my bags if I were him."

Moving to the big, beautiful black car, Dean scooped up the supply box off the trunk. He wrapped his fingers around the chromed driver's door handle and pulled. The familiar loud creak as the wide door swung open brought a huge smile to his dirty, still bleeding face. _Is that a sweet sound or what?!_

Before tossing his leather coat onto the seat back he fished around in its inner pockets with a relieved smile. Retrieving his cell phone and .45, he shoved them into his lab coat pocket along with his keys. Grabbing his shotgun from the box, he laid the Remington on the floorboards. Reaching into the car he slid the food and water onto the black leather seat. Seeing a plastic bag already there, he grabbed at it remembering his gas stop and snack shopping in the morning.

_Oh, shit! A sugar fix!! Just what the doctor ordered! Peanut M&Ms… a coke!_

Spotting the big, bright yellow package he greedily pulled it out of the wrinkled plastic bag. _What the friggin' hell…!_

The empty bag fluttered from his stunned fingers to the floor. Dean's head swung accusingly to the face of the teen next to him. The boy flashed a quick sheepish grin in Dean's direction. Seeing the angry, surprised look on the hunter's face, Stan wasn't sure what to say.

"Dean, man. I didn't know. They were in there. I was hungry and they were going to be trashed anyway, so I ate 'em."

Dean's frown relaxed a bit, "S'okay, kid. Least I know you got good taste in candy. Even if you got lousy taste in employers!"

Glancing up at the big clock, Dean pointed to the big truck, "5:40, Stan! C'mon, gotta run! Grab a bomb. Be careful! Don't get any of that shit on you. They got any matches around here?"

Seizing a couple packs of matches from a partially opened bench drawer, Stan tossed a packet to Dean. "I can run, you can't… let me do the office and the lab, Dean. You can torch the garage."

Without waiting for Dean's answer, the boy grabbed two Molotov's and ran toward the trailer. Dean walked to the five-gallon acetone canister and uncapping the raised spout, laying it on its side. With a painful shove of his foot Dean sent it rolling across the big floor, lazily splashing flammable liquid all along its path. He did the same thing with a big can of toluene. Knowing it was used to make explosives, Dean felt assured the building would not be standing much longer.

Grabbing the last Molotov off the workbench, he headed towards his _pretty little girl… _Suddenly, he veered towards the side door and reaching onto the ground outside snatched the abandoned wooden spoon from the dirt. Grinning at it, he finally moved to the big car. Tossing the spoon onto the backseat and setting the Molotov down on the concrete floor by the Impala, he quickly stowed the Remington and the unused rope in the trunk. Gingerly planting his aching ass on the edge of the seat so he could cover his filthy boots with the fabric shoe covers, Dean had a hard time bending over feeling searing pain from his wounds. Swinging slowly, sorely into the driver's seat, he leaned out to grab the firebomb and placing it carefully between his knees, slammed the massive door shut.

Holding his breath for a moment he leaned forward, placing the key in the ignition and gave the key a quick twist. As usual, _his girl _roared to life, the big Detroit motor rumbling beneath her sleek, shiny black hood. A huge relieved grin spread across Dean's tired, handsome face.

_Oh, baby! Thank you. I knew you wouldn't let me down. Just like you trusted me to save you, huh? I got you now! _

Drawing his phone from his pocket Dean hit Sam's speed dial button. A smile graced his lips as he heard his little brother's anxious voice.

"Dean… Man. I can see flames… There's a fire! You gotta get outta there!" Sam's tone was breathless, worried.

"S'okay, Sammy. We started the fires. We're coming out. Break the big gates open. Tell you more in awhile." Flipping the phone shut he slid it into his lab coat once more.

Stan ran back in just then, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell of acetone and toluene. "We ready? Dean, shit! Those bombs really work!"

""Get in the truck, Stan. Gotta really fly, now!"

"Yessir… I'm outta here." Stan scrambled up into the big truck and, with practiced ease, slid the monster backwards out of the old garage arcing it towards the electric gate.

Dean followed with the Impala pausing only long enough to ignite the Molotov's wick before firing it out the window onto the liquid-drenched floor. Tromping hard on the gas, he felt the motor's powerful response as the big car slipped into the night air. Only seconds later Dean's smile returned as a huge roaring _WHOOSH! _accompanied their speedy exit.

Without pausing, Stan slammed the big truck right through the gateway, knocking the big steel frames wide open and off their tracks with a metallic scream.

As the Impala followed the tow truck through the shattered gate, Dean punched down hard on the gas, maneuvering the big beast past and around the front of Stan's truck. Up ahead in the semi-darkness he twice saw a muzzle flash at the main gate and knew Sam and his Glock had forcibly removed the big lock and chains. Barreling across the big junkyard he smiled grimly as the huge unfettered gates swung open.

_Man, we are cutting this wayyy too close! Shit!!_

Reaching across the broad black interior Dean popped the passenger door open, pausing the car barely long enough for Sammy to slide his long limbs onto the seat. Simultaneously, Dean stuck his head out his window screaming at Stan, "You lead the way… a schoolyard or park or someplace safe! Fast, Stan!"

Sending a shower of gravel into the air the big vehicles tore across and out of the huge parking lot. Motors straining, growling they moved their heavy loads at an unbelievable speed onto the roadway. Turning towards Lake City, the vehicles greeted the coming dawn.

Looking toward the junkyard, Dean saw the huge flare-ups as several explosions occurred. They could hear many smaller popping sounds as other flammable items caught fire. Turning to Sam, Dean grinned.

"We did it, Sam! We did it. God, it's good to see you." He reached a tired hand to ruffle Sam's hair. Touching Sam's chilled face he realized just how cold the night air had been. Dean reached for the controls and put the heater on full blast.

Brotherly concern replaced the excitement in Dean's voice. "Here, Sam. You have to eat something. Drink some water, too. Look, I got you fruit salad." Pulling the salad bowl from the box he thrust it into Sam's hands.

"Dean, man, why'd you burn it down? That wasn't… " Sam was incredulous.

"Necessary? Oh, hell yeah, it was, little brother. That place was unreal! Bad enough when I found out they were running a 'chop shop' … All that razor wire and electric fence shit we saw… That bastard had a damned meth lab all set up in that trailer!! A meth lab for God's sake!"

"Oh my God, Dean! Seriously?" Now it was Sam's turn to look concerned. "How's your butt? Where'd you cut your face? Who's that guy?"

"Eat something first, Sammy, then we'll talk. Okay? Sorry, have to eat with your fingers… Really didn't have time to look for silverware. " That said Dean plunged a hand into the fried chicken tub. Dragging out a drumstick he greedily and rather messily devoured it in one continuous gnawing motion.

Sam happily tore into the fresh fruit, pausing only a moment to uncap two bottles of water and after handing one to Dean, he chugged his own down in one huge gulp. Back to his sweet, juicy meal, he grinned over at Dean, who was hungrily busy consuming his third piece of fried chicken.

The bowl of fruit disappeared quickly and Sam sighed contentedly, "Okay, so… Who's the other guy?"

"Our new best friend, Stan. Kid worked there but hadn't a clue about the illegal drugs. In fact, just lost a cousin to crack a little while ago. Nice kid, really. Helped me a bunch."

Sam leaned in close, moving the supply box to his lap so he could see the lab coat more clearly, frowning in obvious concern over the pinkish tinge spreading across the white fabric.

"Dean, I'm really worried about those cuts. You may need a doctor. I should be driving; you can lie down on the backseat."

Dean turned serious green eyes toward Sam. "Sam, quick! Forgot to call 911. Report the fire. Then, we'll talk… promise."

Sam dialed emergency and had to wait to be transferred to the appropriate town's fire station. Speaking with the dispatcher he said he'd been just passing through town when he saw the fire. He listened to the dispatcher a few more moments, ending the call with… "You're very welcome, just trying to be a good citizen."

Turning with a grin, Sam stated, "Already been called, I guess. Five-O and fire department are on the way." The serious mask again in place, Sam badgered, "So talk to me, Dean. Those cuts are serious."

"Sam, we'll have professional help and still fly under the radar. Stan's grandmother was a surgical nurse and I already agreed to go see her. So, see I'm not putting up any argument."

As he mentioned Stan, the brake lights suddenly flared on the big tow truck and Dean saw Stan's arm frantically thrashing out of the truck window, pointing to the left. Suddenly the big truck veered unexpectedly across the left lane and plunged down a tiny dirt road, with the big black Impala in hot pursuit. Traveling several hundred yards, Stan brought the truck to a halt and stumbled out of the cab and up to the big black beast behind him. Just then a huge red extra-cab pickup roared past the mouth of the little turnoff.

"Stan, you okay?'

"Hell, that pickup that just went by was Malone! Recognized the foglight setup. Was afraid he'd come after the truck if he recognized it!" Poor Stanley was as white as Dean's newly acquired coat.


	10. Chapter 10

_**I've Got a Crush on You **__** Chapter 10 **_We Meet Again!!

The red pick-up whizzed directly past the small, darkened side road, totally oblivious to the two large vehicles hidden among the trees. Stanley had shrewdly killed the tow truck headlights as soon as his tires had left the main road, and Dean had followed suit with a hunter's 'quick read' of the sudden veering off maneuver.

Stanley turned, silently staring toward the highway as Sam slipped from his seat in the Impala to stand alongside the worried teen. Hearing the driver's door creak open, Sam pushed his hip against the door surface forcing it closed.

Leaning down to look his older brother sternly in the eye, Sam hissed, "You stay right where you are, dammit! I've got this covered, Dean."

Sam stepped quietly into the copse of trees. Although the woods provided them with excellent cover from prying eyes, it also prevented them from looking out. Thankfully, with the early light from the quickly approaching dawn and the thinning leaves on the autumn-kissed trees, a less shrouded view of the road was possible at Sam's eye level.

Hearing a twig snap behind him as he crept slightly deeper into the woods, Sam spun around fists at the ready.

Behind him stood that skinny kid that had jumped from the truck, both hands popped up in a show of surrender. Judging from the still fearful look on the boy's young face, Sam guessed he'd never done a dangerous thing in his life.

Stepping toward the boy, a friendly hand extended, Sam reassured him with a gentle grin, pushing his unruly long hair from his blue-green eyes. "You must be Stan. Hey, I'm Dean's brother, Sam. I understand I owe you a debt of thanks for helping Dean, back there."

The teen actually blushed, casting his blue eyes shyly toward the forest floor as he shook Sam's hand. "Naw, I didn't do much really. Mostly just followed Dean's lead. He's awesome. Really brave."

Sam smiled at the boy's shyness, and nudged him to take some credit. "Well, all I can say is I can NEVER get him to agree to get help when he's hurt so you must have some real powers of persuasion."

Stanley chuckled, "Well, all I gotta say is he'd better listen to my Gran, 'cuz she's pretty tough on us kids when we don't. You may wanna warn Dean though: she gets after you with a wooden spoon if you don't listen up! She's a fantastic nurse, though. Patched me up more than a few times."

Sam's laughter joined Stan's on that comment. "A spoon, huh? He should be used to that. We met a lady that does the same thing."

His attention was quickly drawn to sudden activity visible through their tree shield. Catching sight of a multitude of flashing red and blue strobe lights turning off the crossroad about a quarter mile away, Sam knew they were all heading in the direction of the big junkyard.

With a huge relieved grin, Sam turned toward the much shorter teen, who, despite all his stretching and straining, could see nothing but trees and underbrush. "Looks like our little convoy can get on the road again. A whole bunch of cops and firemen will have your Mr. Malone pretty busy answering questions for at least a few hours."

Scowling, Stan shook his head in protest, "He's not _my _Mr. Malone anymore. I'll never go back there. Hope the only place I ever see him again is in the TV news. Going to prison…"

Sam amicably slapped the kid on the back as they ambled back toward their hidden vehicles. "So, I hear you might be the one that'll bring Malone to justice. Dean told me you've got a shitload of evidence in the truck that may put Malone in jail for a long time."

"Hell, yeah! You should see all the stuff Dean and I found!" As they reached the truck Stan swung up onto the first rung of the steps leading into the high truck cab. Yanking open the big door, he proudly pointed out the big box to Sam. "In fact, first stop's gonna be my friend Tim's house. His dad's the District Attorney."

As Stan clambered up the side of the truck and slid behind the wheel Sam headed for the newly rescued Impala. He couldn't help but admire the huge black beast. Although he'd never admit it to Dean openly, he really did care about the big vehicle-- not with Dean's obvious passion, but with a definite fondness.

Approaching the big black car Sam immediately felt a lump rising in his throat. The driver's door was still closed but… No big brother sat behind the wheel!

Sam loped to the car so quickly he only managed to stop himself by slapping his hands against the shiny roof like slamming on the brakes. No Dean in the front seat, at all.

Suddenly a strained slightly pissed off voice sounded from the depths of the shadowed back seat, "Shit, Sammy! Careful with my girl! Show a little respect, willya?"

Leaning anxiously in through the driver's window, a worried frown creasing his usually smooth brow, Sam probed gently, "Dean? You all right? What are you doing back there?"

Weakly lifting his head out of the shadows, Dean attempted a reassuring smile. "M'okay, Sammy. Just think that now that it's nearly over my body's shutting down on me. Damn! My head's thumping like one of Phil Rudd's drum solos. And my ass… well, we won't even go there... Enough to say it's really burning and throbbing. My left leg's gone numb. I tried a bit of Crown Royal as a little anesthesia but not sure it's working." Dean snickered tipsily.

Popping open the rear driver's side door, Sam squatted down in the opening to be eye level with his injured sibling. Extending one long arm he gently placed his hand against Dean's ashen right cheek before making a quick contact with his burning forehead as well. Dean tried to rise from his prone position, laying an icy cold hand on Sam's exposed wrist. Locking on Dean's fever-bright green eyes, Sam felt an urgency to get his brother to Stan's grandmother as quickly as possible. The combination of the amount of blood loss, the prolonged exposure to the cold October night air while way underdressed, dehydration, and extreme fatigue could prove fatal if not treated soon.

By the light of the early morning sun softly washing over them, Sam was finally able to get a good look at Dean's lab coat. The bloodstain now covered a wide three-foot circle on the rear panel and it looked very fresh, very wet. Sam could smell the blood and it terrified him.

Seeing Dean actually surrendering the Impala to him, after fighting such a valiant battle to regain possession of _his baby_, spoke volumes to Sam. For Dean to admit to any sign of weakness was so out of character that Sam was really beginning to panic.

Trying not to let Dean see his intense discomfort with the situation, Sam snarked, "Dean… first it was your rendition of Tom Cruise, then a mud wrestler and now the mad scientist get-up. Amazing! Thought the family rule was 'we don't do Halloween'?"

Dean chuckled softly, "Couldn't help myself, Sam. Trying to impress _my girl,_ you know?" Pausing to look around at the interior of his beloved Impala and take another gulp from the amber liquor, he smiled gently. "I'm glad she's safe, Sam."

"Dean, not to embarrass you, but I really need to see how badly you're hurt. No way around it." Sam smiled sympathetically.

With a sigh of submission and a roll of his glassy, green eyes, Dean canted his body towards the back of the front seat exposing his bloodied left side to his younger brother's intense gaze.

Horrified to see the blood continuing to seep even as he watched, Sam gently lifted the back of the blood-soaked lab coat. The boxers beneath glistened with Dean's blood. Carefully using the rips in the wet fabric to his advantage, Sam finished shredding the bloodied material through the hem and ever so lightly peeled it back. What was revealed made his blue-green eyes cloud with tears.

Sam would never cease to be amazed by Dean's insane drive and ability to do anything and everything to protect his family with absolutely no concern for his own life and welfare. In his big brother's eyes, the big Detroit doll was as much a family member as John or even Sam himself.

The razor cuts were long and they were deep. Sam was sure there'd be no way around some serious stitches here. He grimaced at the prospect of stitching a body part that sensitive.

"So… whatya think, Sammy?" Dean's speech was a bit slurred and his voice muffled by the leather of the seat he leaned so deeply into as he maintained his awkward position for Sam.

"Don't know exactly, Dean. Can't tell really 'til we get it cleaned up. Might be okay with a bunch of butterflies," he lied. No way in hell butterfly bandages would put these gashes right!

"Butterflies?!" Dean chortled drunkenly. "Sammy, you sayin' my butt would look better with some tattoos? Butterflies?! Naw, too sissy! Not my style. What're ya thinkin'?"

Out of pure reflex reaction, Sam reached out and swatted Dean's hip for the smart-ass remark. Dean loosed a distressed groan and Sam blushed in embarrassment over his momentary stupidity.

"Oh, God, Dean! Oh, man, I wasn't thinking… Oh shit!" Sam lunged to his feet, all apologies. "I'm so sorry. Aw, shit!" Sam leaned down to straighten the lab coat and give his hurt brother a little of his dignity back.

Rotating his body back against the rear seat Dean pulled a pained, faint smile. "S'okay, Sammy. Least now we know I still have feeling in my butt."

"Yeah, Dean. Guess so. Well, we better get moving. Have another swallow or two of your liquid painkiller, but try to stay awake for me. Okay?"

Dean grinned weakly as Sam slammed the door shut, and signaled Stan to start the truck engine. Climbing behind the wheel of the Impala, Sam had to admit he would have sorely missed the feel of the big car's power and mass. Somehow this vehicle was larger than life, just like his big brother. They were a pre-packaged set, couldn't have one without having the other.

Sam twisted the key and the big motor growled comfortingly as he began to back the Impala down the little dirt road towards the edge of the highway. Reaching over he flipped on the radio and was greeted with the music and lyrics of "Rooster" by Alice in Chains. He felt relieved as he heard Dean's tired voice singing along. To Sam, that song seemed so appropriate. His brother was indeed a feisty bantam rooster, always had been. The thought made Sam smile as he glanced into the rearview mirror that he'd repositioned to keep an eye on Dean.

Sam arced out onto the shoulder of the highway, waiting for Stan to take the lead position. Falling in behind the big truck once it hit the asphalt, Sam prayed the side trip to the DA's house would be short-lived. Seeing no cars anywhere as they drove the four miles back into town, Sam glanced at his watch... 6:30! He hoped they could drop the evidence and run; Dean was in serious need of help and they had no time to waste.

Stan steered the tow truck down a couple of winding side streets through older tree-lined neighborhoods and after a few minutes, with a flip of his blinkers, let Sam know they'd arrived at their first destination. Stan struggled a bit to get the big box hefted into his arms and under control, but with sheer determination, he hauled it across a wide lawn and onto the wooden porch of a big old Victorian house. As he lowered his burden onto the steps, the big front door suddenly opened.

A small white ball of fur flew out the door, followed by an older man of perhaps fifty who immediately bent down to help Stan with the box. Like a bouncing ball, the little dog kept jumping for Stan's attention. He let it jump into his arms as he and the older man conversed.

Sam had parked well behind the truck and could see but not hear any of the activity. He watched as Stan pulled a few ledger books from the box, opened one and placed it in the older guy's hands. After peering through that book's pages, the man knelt beside the box and poked around before gathering several more books into his arms. Stan talked animatedly for a few more moments, pausing once to point at the big tow truck. The other fellow nodded enthusiastically and holding out his hand accepted the vehicle keys from the teenager. Stan shook the guy's hand and headed towards the Impala after saying his goodbyes.

Climbing into the front seat of the big car, Stan turned around to glance at Dean, who remained uncomfortably awake, but, judging by the no longer full bottle of booze he gripped, Stan knew his friend at least was feeling less pain. Turning to Sam they shared a smile over Dean's newfound pain medication.

"So, what did the District Attorney say? Going to pursue this?" Sam queried.

Stan's grin lit up the car, "Oh, hell yeah! Said he's always believed Malone was a crook. Thinks he can put a case together real fast with all that stuff we gave him! Said he'll call me later at Gran's."

Sam was pleased another sleazebag was going to get what he deserved, especially after the way Dean suffered. All that trouble because some greedy crooked bastard wanted to make a buck at Dean's expense.

"Hey, Sam, if I can borrow your phone I'll let Gran know we're on the way and that we'll need her skills." Stan was stunned at how quickly the phone appeared.

The conversation was short but sweet, with Stan apologizing for waking up the poor woman and then explaining that he had a hurt friend with him with some bad cuts and could she please help them out. The call ended with Stan promising that they'd drive quickly but carefully and thanking her for her kindness.

Closing the phone, Stan set it down, grinning. "Gotta love Gran. Said she's been up since six. She said 'no problem' and that she'll throw some muffins in the oven and make us a pot of coffee. We're good to go. We'll be there in about ten minutes."

"Stan, thanks so much. Man, you don't know what a great favor this is. Dean's cut up pretty badly. Guess you knew he'd been through a lot yesterday. He's had this car since he was a teenager and before that our Dad owned it."

"Sam, I thought he was crazy at first… the missing jeans… the mud and oil… talking to the car… Damn, I thought he was gonna kill me. Then he kinda explained some stuff and we found all that stuff in Malone's office and then Dean passed out. I was so scared. When he came to, he kept his promise about destroying Malone and we left. He's a great guy, will he be okay?"

Sam looked at Dean in the rearview mirror, singing along drunkenly with the Metallica tune blaring from the radio. "Yeah, Stan, he'll be fine. We always take care of each other. I'll make sure he's okay."

They drove in silence the rest of the distance to grandmother's house, pulling into her long driveway at 7:10. Stan climbed anxiously from the car and said he'd go get his grandmother prepared for their entrance. Running up to the neatly-kept little blue bungalow, Stan jumped onto the porch yanked the screen door open and disappeared.

Sam switched off the ignition and with it Ozzy's voice instantly ceased singing "Crazy Train".

"Hey! I was lissnin' to that… You don' like Ozzy, my fren' ?"

With the trouble Dean was having speaking Sam knew he would have even worse problems walking. The big door creaked open. Sam slid from behind the wheel and circled to the passenger side rear door. Pulling it open slowly, he had to move quickly to slide an arm under his brother's shoulders. Dean nearly flowed out of the car, obviously feeling no pain-- at this point his body was like soft rubber.

Sam lifted Dean into position so he could slide an arm beneath Dean's knees and another around his shoulders. Dean automatically slipped an arm around Sam's neck for support, as his head rolled limply against Sam's cheek. A bit slack-jawed Dean mustered a grin for his baby brother, "Love you sooo much, Sammeee…" he slurred.

Sam smiled, knowing that came from Dean's heart and not his conscious mouth. One of those things that a sober Dean would _NEVER_ say, but Sam knew to be true. "Yeah, Dean, I love you too."

With a grunt from Sam and a drunken groan from Dean, they pushed off from the car and moved toward the house. Sam was staggering a bit beneath Dean's solid weight but knew he'd make it in one piece. As he slowly maneuvered their way up the three front steps something he caught in his peripheral vision gave him reason to pause.

Under the huge spreading oak tree in the side yard sat a familiar vehicle, a dark blue metallic minivan with greasepaint smears on the side door. Sam broke into a grin_. Our chauffeur… 'Gran' is our nice old_ _lady!_ Feeling a lot more comfortable, he headed into the house.

The living room suited the lady, photos of family members, lots of them, graced the walls. All the furniture was kid friendly and comfy-looking. Boosting Dean a bit higher into his long arms, Sam smiled knowing they'd found a friendly support group. Hearing voices through the door on the far right, he headed in that direction.

Sam shuffled quietly into the kitchen in time to see Gran, her robed back to the door, place a bottle of brandy on the table. "Stanley, maybe your friend will need some of this in his coffee, before we fix him up.'

Clearing his throat, Sam stood in the doorway holding Dean in a not so secure 'fireman's carry'. Dean's head lolled drunkenly in the direction of Stan and the old lady.

Suddenly a huge shitfaced grin swallowed Dean's face, "Hey! I… I know you guys… the kid… from the garage… and the nice old lady with the little monsters! …Nice to see youse agin!" he giggled.

Now it was Gran's turn to grin, "Well, your young friend apparently brought his own, dear. How nice!" She smiled at Sam. "Nice to see both of you boys again as well. I take it _he_ already found some _pain_ _relief."_

Stanley looked confused. "You all know each other?"

Gran patted Stanley's shoulder, "Later, Stan, let's get those cuts looked at first."

Moving gracefully past Sam and his armful she led the way down a short hall and pointed out a cheery little room with a big bed covered in white sheets. "Just lay him down there, sweetie. Don't mind the sheets. Bleach can get nearly everything out of muslin."

Sam did a quick introduction. "I'm Sam and this is my brother, Dean. He's hurt pretty badly, bleeding a lot, ma'am."

"Just call me Gran, honey. Everybody else does. Dean looks like he's had a bad night since I last saw you boys." She frowned at the blood soaked white coat. "Sam, you're not looking any too good yourself. You better put him down and go grab a wee bit of breakfast. If I need help, I promise I'll call you."

Sam leaned over to place Dean on the bed and as he did so momentarily lost his footing shooting an arm out to quickly brace himself against the wall. As he straightened out and removed his hand from the wall, he was chagrined to see the _huge bloody handprint_ he's deposited on the dear old lady's bedroom wall.

"I'm so sorry, Gran. I'll wash it off right away if you tell me where the cleaning supplies are." Sam pleaded, hanging his head.

"Pshaw, Sam. No problem. Been looking for an excuse to paint these old walls anyway." She immediately moved to Dean's side, carefully unbuttoning the soiled lab coat. Seeing the coating of dirt and oil beneath it, she turned to Sam. "Guess he'll need to shower before we start. Think he can handle that, Sam? You probably know him better than anyone."

"Yeah, he loves hot showers. He'd walk through fire to get to one. As long as he has a wall to lean on he'll be fine, Gran." Perching quietly on the edge of the bed on Dean's other side, Sam leaned in close touching his brother's cheek. Sam was rewarded by Dean's rolling his head in Sam's direction, his feverish, drunken green eyes blinking repeatedly as he tried to bring things into focus.

Speaking to his sibling, Sam tried to sound upbeat. "Dean... Dean. You gotta try to stay awake for awhile now. I'll be close by, I promise. Gran wants you to take a shower so she can fix you up. Think you can handle that? Need me to stay with you in case you're too woozy?"

Dean wrapped his hand around Sam's, grinning a silly drunken grin. "Naw, Sammeee… Don't need help… M'fine. Just get me on my feet… M'fine." He patted Sam's hand patronizingly. "S'okay… been showerin' by m'self f'years!" Frowning he added, "You better eat sumthin'. You'll be sick."

With a shrug of his shoulders and a slight questioning look on his face, Sam turned towards Gran. "He usually means what he says. He's big though. Sure you can handle him?" Sam gave the older lady's five-foot-two form an appraising glance.

"Believe me, Sam. I've handled far bigger. Now you go eat. I'll call you if necessary." She smiled that kind grandmotherly smile she'd worn on the ride to the junkyard. "Dean will be fine, dear. I'll take good care of him. I was a surgical nurse for 36 years."

Sam smiled at her gentle reassurances and with a final glance at Dean's smirking, relaxed face stood up once more and moved thru the doorway. Heading back down the hallway, he turned back to see the woman gently mopping at Dean's torn face and could hear her murmuring softly to his injured brother.


	11. Chapter 11

_**I've Got a Crush on You **__** Chapter 11 **_An Absolute Perfect End

Taking advantage of his grandmother's brandy bottle, young Stan poured a heavy shot into both Sam's and his own coffee. He knew how worried Sam was about his brother and felt responsible for keeping Sam's mind occupied. He dished out two of his Gran's prize-winning lemon poppy seed muffins for each of them on the plates provided, and then motioned for Sam to sit down.

Sam eased into the high-backed oak chair across the table from Stan, actually looking forward to this island of calm in what had been a miserable, worrisome, tumultuous eighteen hours. Sam could smell the heat from the electric furnace as it hissed from the vents on either side of the room and the warmth relaxed him. He welcomed the opportunity to just perch on a chair eating breakfast in this wonderfully, comfortable country kitchen with its warm sunshine yellow walls and cheerful company-friendly décor. It was a normal beginning to a normal day by most people's standards, if you weren't a Winchester. Suddenly he felt guilty at his own comfort knowing Dean lay only a short distance away suffering.

Stan's voice pulled him back from his thoughts as the boy pushed a glass tray with small carafes towards him. "Sam, you want cream or sugar?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah, Stan. Both." Sam's mind had been about thirty feet away, wondering what was happening to Dean.

"Sam, don't worry. Please? My Gran is so good at what she does. She was head nurse on a big surgical team for years. And back in the '60's she was a field hospital surgery nurse in Viet Nam. Dean's in great hands!" Stan smiled reassuringly.

"I know you're right, Stan. It's just that Dean's all I have… and I can't help but worry."

Sam stirred his cream and sugar into his coffee and gazed at the boy with anxious eyes. Picking up one of the big muffins from his plate he was surprised to find it still warm from the oven. Biting into it, he was delighted at the sweet lemony flavor. "Stan, if Gran is half as good a nurse as she is a baker, you're right… Dean's in awesome hands!"

Just then Gran bustled into the kitchen, no longer in her furry pink robe but now in a set of blue surgical scrubs, looking every bit the medical professional they so desperately needed. Seeing Sam pushing to his feet she laid a small hand on his shoulder gently pushing him back onto the chair.

"We're doing just fine in there, dearie. No need to get up. A very nice young man that brother of yours. Just came out for a few supplies I needed." Her merry blue eyes twinkled in her sweet smiling face, chuckling, she added, "Quite silly when he's been drinking… and a bit shy!"

Digging around under the sink, she retrieved a fresh bottle of Ivory dish soap and then moved to a white cabinet nestled in the corner behind the big refrigerator. Taking only a few moments she stepped away with a packet wrapped in sparkling white linen. Turning to address the boys, her first question was directed at Sam. "Any more in that bottle he was sucking on earlier, Sam? Don't think we should mix 'pain killers' here."

"Yes, ma'am. In the back seat of the car, I'll go…"

Sam was interrupted as Gran switched her eyes to Stan. "Stan, go!

Don't just sit there, go fetch that bottle and be quick about it!"

As the pimply-faced teen raced through the house and out the front door, Gran turned to Sam. "He's a good boy. Always tries to do the right thing, been pretty down since my other grandson died. They were more like brothers really. Been hard on everyone but harder on Stan."

Sam could see her eyes tearing up and he moved to stand beside her a big arm cradling her shoulders. "Dean told me about his death. I'm so sorry, Gran. Listen, Dean and Stan found out Malone was making meth out at the yard. They set fire to the damned place!"

"Malone?! I never liked that man." Her sad eyes suddenly flashed with anger.

Sam smiled down at her. "Well, your Stan is quite a hero. They packed up a bunch of evidence and Stan gave it to the District Attorney right before we came here."

Stan stepped back into the kitchen, bottle of Crown Royal gripped by the neck. He looked confused as Gran suddenly threw her arms around him in a big bear hug. Then the confusion changed to a smile of pure pleasure as he relaxed into her wonderful warm embrace. "Gran, all I did was run to the car. No big deal."

Before gathering her supplies and bustling back to her medical duties, Gran smiled at Sam. "Don't you worry about your big brother, honey. I'll take real good care of him. You'll be able to see him in about an hour and then it's serious naptime… for all THREE of you. No arguments. Plenty of beds."

Sam chuckled as she left as abruptly as she had entered. He had never felt this comfortable about seeking medical help in their whole hunting career. Gran might lack a doctorate in medicine but her motherly concern more than made up for that.

Taking a big gulp of his brandy-laced coffee, Sam relaxed into the big wooden chair cradling the hot ceramic cup in his big hands, enjoying the warmth the liquid created in his belly. _Oh, today is going to be a much better day!_

Back in the bedroom, Gran had placed her little linen packet, the liquor and dish soap on a TV tray she had stationed near the bed and was gently helping the drunken young hunter remove the soiled, bloodied lab coat. Dean tried to assist in the removal, but he kept getting twisted up even worse in the fabric, which did nothing more than illicit another volley of giggles from the very tipsy young man.

Gran couldn't help but chuckle as she finally instructed him to just lie still as she rotated him side to side peeling the coat from his body. He was grinning triumphantly as he was finally free of the bloodied material.

"Dean, honey, we're going to have to get a peek at your cuts, is that all right? I'll need you to roll onto your right side for a moment or two." Gran tried to keep him from feeling violated, because who wants any stranger looking at his ass.

He rolled obediently to his side and allowed her to lift the bloodied boxers' fabric without comment. He could see her face as the retired nurse did her evaluation of his injuries. Despite feeling really out of it, Dean could still recognize deep concern even through his alcohol-hazed vision. Her frown did not make this any easier.

"Dean, sweetie, I need to sit you up now. Is that okay?"

"Sure, Grannie, been sit'n up since I was little…" Placing both hands alongside his hips, Dean tried frustratingly to push upright but it wasn't happening. With Gran's hands lifting his shoulders he finally made it. She softly guided his muck-smeared, bloody legs over the side of the bed and kneeling beside him gently, efficiently removed his fabric shielded boots and socks from his feet.

"Gran, I really need s'more Crown… I hurt." Dean gestured towards the amber liquor on the little wooden tray. He accepted the bottle as she silently placed it, uncapped, into his hands.

"Not too much, son. We still have to get you to the bathroom for a nice shower. You can have all you want when we get back here." She put the cap back in place and helped the young man to his rather shaky legs. "Dean, can you hold onto the wall here for just a moment? Need to put down a fresh sheet. Want to keep everything nice and sterile for you."

Yanking the soiled sheet from the bed, she spread another with the practiced grace of a longtime caregiver, then quickly moved to his side once more, the bottle of soap in one hand. Wrapping an arm gently but securely around the young man's waist, she guided him across the narrow hall to the bathroom, thanking God as they entered that she had that freestanding shower stall added last year. Her patient's wounds would not have appreciated climbing into that old high tub of hers.

Suddenly the inebriated Dean became quite shy, looking nervously around for some kind of covering. Seeing his eyes flitting about, Gran stepped forward to ease his distress. "Honey, believe me. I've seen it all before thousands of times, if that helps any. Let's get you a nice big bath towel for after and for now you can climb in the shower and toss your shorts over the door. Okay? Door is frosted. You'll be okay."

Reeling slightly as he moved away from her, Dean caught a quick glimpse of himself in the big mirror over the sink. "Aw,… I can't shower here. I'm too dirty." He looked pleadingly at the kindly woman. "It will… make a mess."

"Sweetheart, just don't you fret. That's why they make all these great drain cleaners. You just worry about getting that 'mess' off of you. This dish soap cuts grease but it's pretty gentle. I think it'll do the trick. Here's a nice big washcloth. I'll sit right here in this chair. Let me know when you need the towel or if you need help. Shampoo's on the little shelf in the shower."

Climbing with a definite wobble into the stall, Dean tugged the door shut behind him. Gran saw him lean against the back wall as he wrestled with his boxers, trying with great difficulty not to faceplant on the shower floor. The ruined boxers fell softly to the bathroom floor, and she heard the water faucets turn on. He fumbled a bit with the soap and shampoo, but soon she could hear his happy sighs as the hot water and soap did their job.

Gran smiled as she heard the hunter begin to hum softly to himself, a song she recognized from years of listening to music with the kids and grandkids. Metallica had been a favorite band in her household and "The Unforgiven" was one of their best. She prayed that between the blood loss and booze Dean would be able to stand long enough to finish the shower. Once he was back on the bed he'd be fine. A thought came to her as she sat thinking about the young man's endearing shyness, getting up she pulled some scissors from the vanity and cut into one of her best white towels.

Inside the stall, Dean willed himself to stay on his feet, knowing Sam was nearby brought some comfort at least. He grimaced distastefully looking down at the nasty coating that spread across his muscled body and ran nearly chin to shin. He scrubbed some rather pleasant but girlie-smelling shampoo roughly through his short blond hair and stepped beneath the comforting hot spray of the shower. Pouring copious amounts of Ivory onto the big thick washcloth he began to lather and scrub at the vile oily stuff. Humming thoughtlessly as he tried to clean the remnants of the previous night from his body, if not from his memory. Glancing at the stall floor he could see the sludge going down the drain_. Shit! That stuff was nasty. Hope it doesn't ruin her shower…_

Once his thick torso, arms, and legs looked decent, he automatically reached behind him and started scrubbing his flanks. Despite all the Crown Royal, he felt a rush of pain and fire that sucked the breath out of him. He groaned painfully, gasping for air. _Winchester, you stupid friggin' moron! Owww!!! Think for God's sake!! You dumbass! How could you forget?_

In an instant the door was torn open and his worried nurse stood pensively in the opening! Horrified, Dean instantly bent forward, lightning-quick arms over his privates, painfully banging his head on the faucets in the process. Gran was even more red-faced and quickly slammed the door shut.

"Dean, I'm soooo sorry. I wasn't thinking! Well… I was… but I thought you fell. I'm sorry." Gran's voice was halting and muffled as it filtered through the closed door and water spray. Dean smiled appreciating that they were both embarrassed.

Dean then proceeded to carefully finish the shower, looking forward to drowning not only his pain but also his embarrassment in the remnants of the Crown Royal. The hot water had helped him relax but the scrubbing had definitely reactivated the pain, increasing its intensity.

Shutting off the water, he called through the door to Gran. "Okay, Gran. I'm ready for that towel now." In response, a large dark green bath towel was handed over the top of the door. He quickly dried the water from his hair and body, this time being cautious about his injured flanks. Wrapping the towel around his hips, he stepped out of the stall.

"Dean, I'm really sorry. I…" she started. As Gran wrapped her arm once again around his waist for the trip across the hall, she couldn't meet his gaze or he might read what she was thinking. _Why the hell didn't they make guys that looked like this when I was young!! MMM!! Good thing I'm not a young chick. I could NEVER do this. Lord, give me strength!_

"Nah, no problem. I shouldn't have cried out like that."

Gran helped him to the bed and handed him the liquor bottle once again. "Dean, I have to warn you this may be pretty painful. There's no way around stitching up those gashes. Judging by your scars and bruises I'm guessing you're pretty used to pain. I just hate to be the cause of more of it, honey. I'm so sorry."

Dean gulped down several mouthfuls of the alcohol and allowed the burn in his stomach to surge through him. Grinning his patented Winchester devil-may-care grin, he patted her hand in reassurance. "Gran, enough of this stuff and you could run me through a damned Singer sewing machine; I'd never know the difference!"

They both laughed and she helped him swing his legs up onto the mattress. Grabbing a couple more swigs as he watched her open the packet on the table, he smiled. Professional stitches, no fear! _Hell, I remember having to use dental floss one time after a hunt! This should be a cakewalk!_

When Dean started chortling and giddily babbling to himself, with a silly shit-faced grin, she knew her patient was ready to begin. Holding up a thick white towel with a hole cut in the center, Gran announced, "Look, Dean, I made you a modesty shield. That will cover you and just let the area I have to stitch show through."

"Awwww, Gran, didn' hafta wreck a towel fer me. Not the firs' pretty girl to see my hansom' ass!" He melted into a puddle of giggles as he sunk into the pillow she slid beneath his head. "Nope. Not the firs'. Unh-unh… "

"Well, let's see if we can keep it handsome, dearie. Now, I'll try to be gentle but you have to hold very still for me. Okay, let's have you roll onto your right side… No, Dean… _your other right side_. That's my boy."

She had to smile at his macho silliness. _What a wonderful young man, his parents must be so proud of him. The younger brother seems so similar. Nice to see young ones caring for each other like this!_

As Gran readied the sutures she found herself humming "TheUnforgiven," unable to get the tune out of her head. Glancing at Dean, she couldn't help but notice him relaxing further with the sound. Well, as long as it didn't disturb him, she thought, and she continued the soft drone. Suddenly feeling eyes on her, she looked toward the hall.

Tall, handsome Sam stood quietly outside the bedroom, smiling gently. "He hums you know. It focuses him. Gives him a kind of peace. Ever since we were kids he'd hum or sing for me when I was sick or hurt. Is he okay, Gran? Do you need any help?"

She smiled at the bond between these brothers, this determination to care for one another. "We're doing okay, Sam. This will take about fifteen maybe twenty minutes and then you can sit with him but only for a few moments. I want to give him some antibiotics, not the best thing with the whiskey but we needed the anesthetic quality of it. I also want your promise that you'll stay at least today and tomorrow night. We need to watch the cuts for infection and watch this fever closely."

"Gran, thanks so much. Not many would help strangers like this." Sam's warm smile lit up the room better than sunshine, she observed.

"Honey, you boys aren't strangers. Knew that when we shared that ride yesterday. We're supposed to help each other." She turned, hearing Dean moan softly through his snoring. "Well, I guess he won't feel this now. Is he always like this drunk? He's a bit of a flirt, hmm?"

Sam chuckled as he moved backed toward the kitchen. "Yeah, he is."

Nearly ten hours had passed since the medical ministrations had been completed and Sam and Stan sat at the kitchen table eating huge plates of homemade spaghetti and meatballs with Gran. They had both slept a solid eight hours and Dean was still asleep.

At nearly six the phone rang and Stan ran to answer it. Sam and Gran could hear his excited voice as he had a short animated conversation. Coming back into the kitchen, that grin couldn't have been any wider. "We're supposed to watch the Six O'clock News."

Suddenly a cough and a plaintive voice sounded from down the hallway. "Hey, I wanna watch TV!"

Laughing, Sam and Gran followed Stan down the hall. Dean looked much better. Using a thermometer, Gran was pleased to see his temperature had dropped to a very workable 99.3 and his bandages appeared to be fine as well. Stepping to the bed table, Gran returned with an armful of clothes, which she handed to Sam.

"Dean, honey, these were my grandson, Kip's, clothes. He was about your size. He liked those soft flannel pants and t-shirts for around the house."

Grabbing Stan's arm she guided him from the room. "Sam will help you change, dear. Sitting may be a bit difficult yet but I have a little bar with high stools you could perch on so we can eat and watch the news. Okay?" With that she turned and was gone, leaving the two young hunters looking amazed in her wake.

"Wow! What a lady!" Sam just stared after her.

"Sammy, where's that rotten Winchester luck? Man, she shoulda worn an angel outfit last night. How do we deserve her?" Dean pushed himself into a painful, stiff sitting position and Sam helped him slide his lower legs into the flannel pants. Turning his back to Dean, Sam stood close enough for Dean to grab onto his belt for assistance in getting to his feet. Dean tossed his towel onto the bed and yanked the green plaid pants up onto his naked hips. Tying them quickly, he grabbed at the gray t-shirt Sam held. "Damn, I almost feel human again."

Sam helped him struggle into the shirt and grasping Dean's elbow for support, escorted him to the kitchen. Gran had already fixed Dean a big plate of steaming spaghetti with extra meatballs and with a wave of her hand shooed the boys ahead of her into the living room.

Stan had turned on the big 36 inch TV, arranging four barstools facing the big screen. Sam and Stan moved the little Formica-topped bar to the middle of the room in front of the stools while Gran set up Dean's place and then went to the kitchen with Stan to fetch the other plates and drinks. Dean awkwardly eased his uninjured right buttock onto the edge of a barstool, grimacing as he tried to get positioned to eat. Soon the great home-cooked meal happily eased the pain.

As they were waiting for the news to start, Gran turned to Dean. "If you don't mind my asking, Dean, what size boots do you wear?'

"Tens, ma'am. Why? I'm so sorry I tracked blood and mud all over your nice house, didn't I?"

"Will you boys quit worrying about such things? You've been NO trouble at all! The reason I asked was because I'd bought a nice pair of Doc Martens to give Kip for Christmas. They'll just sit and collect dust if you don't take them." She held up her hand to quell any argument Dean might attempt. "And… before we go any further, you are put on notice that you have to stay 'til at least the day after tomorrow. I don't take kindly to people arguing with me in my own home. Not open to discussion…"

Dean's mouth snapped shut, a pleased smile slid over his handsome face.

As if on cue, the TV News was suddenly blaring, "_And tonight breaking news from our District Attorney and the Sheriff's office…" _

The camera broke away to a LIVE broadcast filming in front of the Sheriff's office. The serious face of a young, blond female reporter filled the screen. _"And tonight, the District Attorney's office, in conjunction with our Sheriff, will address us momentarily on the arrests. Just minutes ago, of the owner of one of our most successful local businesses, a local police officer and his wife, who held a high position in city government, along with five others, possibly employed at this same business... Wait! Here comes the DA and Sheriff now…. _

The camera then swung to a podium hastily set up in a parking lot. Behind it stood a distinguished looking, mustachioed man in a sheriff's uniform and the man they had seen on Tim's porch that morning. The DA was the first to speak… _"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Lake City, we are here to announce the arrests today of members of a major drug ring and auto theft mob who had preyed on our fair city for years. Ralph Malone, owner of a local junkyard, his sister, Wanda Sanders, our city clerk, and her husband, James, a local police officer are now behind bars and shall remain there thanks to evidence brought to our attention by a local good citizen. Numerous others involved in obtaining and distributing these illegal materials have also been arrested. I'm turning the microphone over to Sheriff Thompkins for further questions."_

Stan, Sam, Dean and Gran had ceased eating, since food doesn't stay in your mouth very well when you're grinning from ear-to-ear. They had sat quietly through the entire announcement but now were moved to cheering and 'high-fives' as they heard the sheriff read the lengthy list of charges.

Gran joyfully hugged each of the boys in turn, proclaiming, "I'm so proud of all my boys."

Stan's grin wouldn't come off with a jackhammer, standing with his arm around his grandmother, he faced Dean, "Now, you guys hafta stay. We got some heavy duty celebrating to do!"

Shoveling the last food off his plate, Dean grinned, despite a face full of spaghetti and meatballs, nodding his head. "You bet your ass…" he chuckled, rewinding a bit. "You bet _MY ass_ we will! As long as Gran keeps cooking like this! Might have to get us evicted at some point."

Gran was the one grinning now. "Naw! I'll just get my wooden spoon!"

At that both hunters burst out laughing. Dean slid an arm around Gran's shoulders as they moved toward the kitchen for a second helping. Leaning his head down on top of hers, he shared, "Actually, I think your spoon is in my backseat and a wonderful spoon it is. Let me tell you about some additional uses I found for those things."

Turning with an afterthought, he asked Sam, "If we're staying for the next few days, Sasquatch, you are so going to need a shower! While you're fetching your clothes, would you grab that Percocet out of the box? Butt's really going to need them!"

Gran suddenly perked up, seeing Sam grab his jacket off the chair by the door, "Sam, honey, while you're out there, grab Dean's jacket too, will you? I seem to remember the baby getting greasepaint on it…"

As Sam moved toward the door, he heard Dean ask with seemingly casual offhandedness, "So… uh… Gran, did you really make my ass pretty again?"

Gran gave a soft chuckle. "Rest assured, honey, it's been restored to its original glory like the fine work of art that it is."

_Only Dean! What an ass, sometimes!! _


End file.
